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AN 

ESSAY 



ON 



ELOCUTION: 

WITH 

ELUCIDATORY PASSAGES FROM VARIOUS AUTHORS 

TO WHICH ARE ADDED 

REMARKS 

ON 

READING PROSE AND VERSE 3 

WITH 

SUGGESTIONS TO INSTRUCTORS OF THE ART. 



By JOHN HANBURY DWYER, 

PROFESSOR OF ELOCUTION. 



SIXTH EDITION, WITH ADDITIONS. 

ALBANY: 
WEARE C. LITTLE. 

1353. 



?N* 



\\\ 



3 2 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1843, by John 
Hanbuby Dwyer, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of 
the Northern District of New- York. 

TRINTED BY C. VAN BEN^HUYSEN 



PREFACE. 



As usefulness to our fellow men is one of the grand 
ends of our being, it behoves every one to contribute his 
share to the general good ; therefore, if this attempt 
prove but as the widow's mite, yet is the writer justified 
in making i„. 

The Exercises which it was necessary that the Author 
should compose for the instruction of his pupils, first 
suggested the idea of attempting to make a book upon 
the subject, by extending the plan. This suggestion 
was strengthened and encouraged by the favorable 
opinions of some who read those exercises, and for whose 
judgment and talents the writer and the community at 
large have a high respect. 

If Elocution, so diligently studied by persons of re- 
spectability in Europe, were duly appreciated in this 
country, its advantages would be so apparent, that won- 
der would arise that it should have remained so long 
without a proper place amid the general mass of infor- 
mation, so widely disseminated among the people of 
America. Perhaps, useful knowledge being the grand 
aim here, ornamental aids may have been considered 
superfluous; but, in this case, they are so happily blended, 
and so necessarily connected, that just fault cannot be 
found with the mixture. Independently of Elocution, 
correct oral eloquence cannot exist, for it is its grammar. 
In thisj the freest country that now exists, or ever did 



IV PREFACE. 

exist, although elocutive knowledge will not make us 
orators, yet it will cause us to be fearless and correct 
speakers in a land like ours, where the humblest of hei 
sons has continually occasion to address his fellow-citi- 
zens. 

Eloquence has frequently been objected to, as having 
a tendency to bewilder the understanding by dressing 
fiction in the garb of truth ; but admitting that to be 
the case, are we to argue the exception against the gene- 
ral rule ? To decry oratory because an abuse of it maj ; 
occur, would be as absurd as to find fault with Christi- 
anity, because some, not following its precepts, use the 
semblance of it hypocritically, and as a cloak for their 
own selfish and wicked purposes. 

As well may we abuse the blessed sun which sheds 
life, and light, and lustre all around, because the in- 
tenseness of his rays sometimes engenders putridity 
and pestilence. 

" For nought so vile that on the earth doth live, 
But to the earth some special good doth give ; 
Nor aught so good but, strain'd from that fair use, 
Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse." 

Such objections generally spring from minds incapa- 
ble of conceiving the inexpressible delights which flow 
from eloquence, delights which do not rest merely in 
being capable of comprehending and feeling the ora- 
tions of a Demosthenes, a Cicero, a Curran, or the 
senatorial harangues of a Chatham, a Burke, a Fox, a 
Pitt, a Sheridan, without reference to all the rest, whose 
names alone would fill a volume, but in the highly 
fraught mental enjoyment of speaking peace and par- 
don to, and smoothing the pillow of the dying, and 
perhaps before desponding sinner; of advocating the 
cause of defrauded orphanage, or unprotected widow- 
hood , of arousing the spirit of a country to the asser- 



PREFACE. ▼ 

tion of its rights ; of unlocking the stores of affluence 
for the godlike purpose of drying the tears of penury ; 
of vindicating our brethren and ourselves, and of up- 
holding the religion of our Maker against the dark and 
self immolating doctrines of the pitiable unbeliever. 
Who can reflect upon such advantages, and not exult 
that Providence, in its munificence, has strewed that 
sweet and pleasant flower in the probationary and thorny 
path of wandering man ? 

Were the Author asked what oratory is, he would 
answer, mind — but he would be qualifiedly understood. 
This bears an equivocal meaning, something similar to 
that which the great father of eloquence wished to in- 
culcate when being asked what oratory was, he answer* 
ed action. So aware were the ancients of the impetus 
which utterance gave to gesture, that they frequently 
called pronunciation action. Yet action is the last and 
least of its parts, which are, mind, that enables us to 
invent, memory, the repository of our own thoughts and 
those of others, imagination, which imparts brilliancy 
to our language, disposition or arrangement, which 
places our matter in a proper point of view, utterance 
or pronunciation, w T hich gives effect to our invention, 
feeling, which gives it force, then action. 

It must be allowed that in the time of the ancients, 
action had more influence in eloquence than at the pre- 
sent time. The style of their orators being consonant 
with it, and the number of their auditors requiring it as 
\ type of words, which could not always be distinctly 
heard by such multitudes ; therefore a style of action 
which was admissible in them, would in us be deemed 
extravagant and unnatural ; but in avoiding the one ex- 
treme the British are said, by forcifiers, to have fallen 



▼1 PREFACE. 

into the other, t, e. of not using a sufficiency of action 
to give effect to their subjects. This objection may 
have some foundation in fact, but if they err in this 
particular, it is certainly on the side of safety and de- 
corum. 

It was the intention of the writer to have marked the 
examples in this book with italics, but he was deterred 
from doing so by the objections which upon delibera- 
tion seemed to oppose such a plan, especially when Dr. 
Blair is with him, an author who has done so much for 
the eloquence of the English language, and who must 
remain a source of admiration to the enlightened, and of 
instruction to those who seek for Rhetorical and Belles 
Lettres information. 

NOTE. — The above tribute to departed merit, is not invidiously 
paid with a view of derogating from the merits of subsequent and 
powerful writers on the same subject ; but in justice to the pioneer 
who cleared the soil, and rendered it receptive of the high cultiva- 
tion since bestowed upon it. 



AN ESSAY 



ON 



ELOCUTION. 



ELOCUTION, which is the power of fluent speech, 
the flow of language, of expression and diction, the art 
of speaking with accuracy, elegance and perspicuity, 
may be said to be comprised under the following heads : 
Articulation, Pronunciation, Accent, Emphasis, Climax, 
Anti-climax, Suspension, Parenthesis, Antithesis, Mon- 
otony or Monotone, Modulation, Enumeration or Am- 
plification, Pauses, Irony, Alliteration, Iteration, Interro- 
gation, Personation, Metaphor, Comparison, Personi- 
fication or Prosopopoeia, Apostrophe,. Vis-ion, Action. 
They shall be treated of in their turns. 

I. ARTICULATION. 

Articulation is the production of distinct sounds, form- 
ed by the unition of the organs of speech, an especial 
mark of favor allotted to us by the Deity, and one of 
the most estimable of his gifts. 

Articulation should be clear and distinct, not in syl- 
lables and words only, but even to the very letter; foi 
as in the formation of the most noble architectural 
structure, a union of various blocks of granite, marble, 
or other solid substance is indispensable, so in the for- 
mation of language, a distinct articulation unites the 

7 



8 ES&AY ON ELOCUTION. 

various parts, and, from what would otherwise be ai 
unintelligible mass, produces a perfect and harmonious 
whole. Those rules already published upon this sub- 
ject, preclude the necessity of further remark here, as 
ihey are sufficiently luminous. 

IL PRONUNCIATION. 

The most celebrated Orator of the ancients called 
pronunciation not only the chief part of oratory, but 
oratory itself ; without going so far, it certainly may be 
considered its foundation, or the key-stone of the arch, 
for unless master of it no man can be a perfect speaker. 
It is a combination of articulation, accent, and emphasis. 
A vulgar pronunciation w T ill mar the finest composition; 
on the contrary, a correct one will give grace to that 
which is even imperfect. Those who are unfortunate 
enough not to be able to pronounce words beginning 
with the letters V, W, and H, with propriety, and who 
confound one with the other, should constantly exercise 
themselves in pronouncing sentences, wherein those 
words frequently occur. 

Examples. 

" How my arm aches beating this hack horse !" would, 
pronounced by such as are above mentioned, be " ou my 
harm hakes beating this ack orse !" Again, " I want 
white wine vinegar with my veal ;" viciously pronounced 
would be, " I vont vite vine winegar vith my weal !" 

I cannot here resist mentioning two ludicrous perver- 
sions of pronunciation, in the words curiosity and suit, 
which occurred in Ireland. A clown having pronounced 
the first mentioned word curosity in hearing of the great 
Curran and an Englishman, the latter remarked that the 
fellow had murdered English ; the former wittily re- 
plied, " oh no, he has only knocked an i out !" The 
other was that of a gun-maker's wife, of Dublin, who 
finding a foppish customer very difficult to please in the 
choice of a case of duelling pistols, and after having 
shown many to no purpose, at length exultingly said, at 



ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 9 

the same time presenting one at him, " oh ! here's wan 
that I am shure will shoot you, sir !" " Indeed ! madam," 
replied the witling, walking leisurely away, " then up- 
on my honor I'll not have anything to do with it." 

The best method of acquiring a just pronunciation, is 
to study those lexicographers who have written most 
ably upon the subject, # and to observe and follow the 
manner in which persons of education, and those in 
polished society, pronounce their words. 

III. ACCENT. 

Accent consists in laying a particular stress on a cer- 
tain syllable, or the syllables of a word, which gives 
such syllable or syllables, force, and marks the gram- 
matical form. 

Examples. 

A com 1 pound. To compound 1 

A ferment. To ferment 1 . 

A con test. To contest 1 . 

A con { tract. To contract*'. 

The change of accent altering the part of speech from 
a substantive to a verb. 

Emphasis alters the regular seat of accent. 

Exam-pie. 

Some poets may be compared with others, but Milton and Shaks- 
peare are in' com parable. 

The regular accent would be incom 'parable. 

IV. EMPHASIS 

Emphasis produces a primary beauty of oratory ; it 
gives the nice distinctions of meaning, the refined con- 
ceptions which language is capable of expressing, and 
imparts a force and harmony to composition which its 
absence would render lifeless, and frequently unintelli* 
gible. 

* See Walker's Critical Pronouncing Dictionary. 



10 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

The following question will prove the great nicety 
and utility of emphasis ; for the mode of emphasising 
it, will give four different meanings : '■ Do you go to 
Europe this year?" If the question be asked without 
a stress on any particular word, the replicant may say 
yes. or no ; if on you, he may say no, I send. If on 
Europe, he may say no, to India. If on this year, he 
may say no, next year. The best rule for emphasising 
justly, is to study the true meaning of the author, and 
lay the stress upon such words as you would make 
impressive, were you conversing upon the same subject. 
The following examples will sufficiently elucidate the 
force and beauty of Emphasis. 

" It must be so — Plato thou reason'st well — 

Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire, 

This longing after immortality ? 

Or whence this secret dread and inward horror 

Of falling into nought ? Why shrinks the soul 

Back on herself, and startles at destruction ? 

'Tis the divinity that stirs within us j 

'Tis heav'n itself that points out an hereafter, 

And intimates eternity to man. 

Eternity ! thou pleasing, dreadful thought 

Thro' what variety of untry'd being, 

Thro' what new scenes and changes must we pass? 

The wide, th' unbounded prospect lies before me ; 

But shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it. 

Here will I hold. If there's a pow'r above us, 

And that there is, all nature cries aloud 

Thro* all her works, he must delight in virtue ; 

And that which he delights in, must be happy. 

But when ? or where ? — This world was made for CaBsar. 

I'm weary of conjectures — this must end 'em. 

Thus am I doubly arm'd. My death and life, 
My bane and antidote are both before me. 
This in a moment brings me to an end ; 
But this informs me I shall never die. 
The soul, secur'd in her existence, smiles 
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point : 
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself 
Grow dim with age and nature sink in years : 
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth, 
Unhurt amidst the war of elements, 
The wreck of matter and the crush of worlds." 

Tragxdy of die. 



ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 11 

«* The quality of mercy is not strained ; 

It tlroppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven 

Upon the place beneath : It is twice bless'd ; 

Itblesseth him that gives, and him that takes: 

'Tis mightiest in the mightiest ; it becomes 

The throned monarch better than his crown : 

His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, 

The attribute to awe and majesty, 

Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings ; 

But mercy is above the scepter'd swaj^ 

It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, 

It is an attribute to God himself: 

And earthly power doth then show likest God's 

When mercy seasons justice." 

Merchant of Venice. 

•• And the Lord sent Nathan unto David. And he came unto 
him, and said unto him, there were two men in one city ; the one 
rich and the other poor. 

" The rich man had exceeding many flocks and herds; 

** But the poor man had nothing save one little ewe-lamb, which 
he had bought and nourished up; and it grew up together with him, 
and with his children ; it did eat of his own meat, and drink of his 
own cup, and lay in his bosom, and was unto him as a daughter. 

" And there came a traveller unto the rich man, and he spared to 
take of his own flock and of his own herd, to dress for the way- 
faring man that was come unto him ; but took the poor man's lamb, 
and dressed it for the man that was come to him. 

" And David's anger was greatly kindled against the man ; and he 
said to Nathan, as the Lord liveth, the man that hath done this 
thing shall surely die ; 

ik And he shall restore the lamb fourfold, because he did thU 
thing, and because he had no pity. 

" And Nathan said to David, thou art the man." 

2d Samuel, 12th Chapter. 

V. CLIMAX. 

A climax is a figure in rhetoric, which rises in force 
and dignity of expression with the sense, and is pro- 
ductive of much grandeur and effect. The rule for 
reading or speaking a climax, is to raise the voice pro- 
gressively with the subject, until you come to its close. 

Examples. 

u The cloud-capt towers, the gorgeous palaces, 
The solemn temple—" 

Flay of thk Tbmsw. 



12 ESSAY ON ELOCUTrON. 

" Sudden the heart 
Of this young, conquering, loving, god-like Roman — 

Thomson. 

" Days, months, years, and ages, — * W. W. Dimond. 

11 What a piece of work is man ! how noble in reason ! how in 
finite in faculties ! in form and moving, how express and admirable 
in action, how like an angel ! in apprehension, how like a God !" 

Hamlet. 

" For thou hast said in thine heart, I will ascend into heaven, I 
will exalt my throne above the stars of God ; I will sit, also, upon 
the mount of the congregation, in the sides of the north ; I will 
ascend above the heights of the clouds ; I will be like the Most High 1" 

VI. ANTI-CLIMAX. 

This figure, the reverse of the Climax, frequently 
imparts force, beauty, and pathos to language. It should 
be read or spoken by commencing the subject in the 
middle tone of voice, then subduedly and progressive- 
ly letting it fall until you come to the termination of 
the passage. 

Examples. 
11 In helpless, hopeless, brokenness of heart." Byron. 

"That fires not, wins not, weeps not now." Ibid. 

" Were I an American, as I am an Englishman, while a foreign 
troop was landed in my country, I never would lay down my arms, 
never, never, never." 

Earl op Chatham in defence of America 

On the Inflections of the Voice. 

Perhaps this may be a proper place to remark upon 
one of the most persuasive ornaments of reading and 
speaking, which is modulation. All the variations of 
the human voice spring from five inflections. The first 
of which, however paradoxical it may seem, is mono- 
tone, the second the rising, and the third the falling in- 
flection, the fourth the falling, and the fifth the rising. 
High and low, loud and soft, quick and slow, may be 
considered comparative modifications, as what is high 
la one case may be low in another, and so of the rest. 



ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 13 

Examples of Monotone, and of the rising and falling 
Inflections. 

" Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers, 

Rising or falling n 

Milton's Morning Hymn, 

Again, 

Eternity ! thou pleasing, dreadful thought !" 

Addison. 

Examples of the falling and rising Inflections. 

" The tear, 
The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, 
And all we know, or dream, or fear — " 

An excursion on the highway may as clearly as any 
other way, point out the five inflections of the voice. 
Monotone being the first, we will suppose the smooth, 
level way, and as we cannot always have smooth level 
ways, we will suppose our next change to be an acclivity, 
which we will call the rising inflection. When we shall 
have reached the summit, we will suppose that we shall 
have to descend, which we will call the falling inflec- 
tion, At the foot of the hill, we meet a level spot, 
which as above, we will call monotone. After travelling 
some distance on this level, we arrive at a descent which 
we will term the falling inflection ; at the foot of which 
we have a hill, which we will call the fifth or rising 
inflection, and these straight forward, and up and down, 
down and up, and continual equalities and inequalities, 
form our road through life, and afford a species of elu- 
cidation of the five inflections of the human voice. 

VII. SUSPENSION. 

Suspension, which may be considered of two kinds, 
the protracted and the slight, is when properly managed, 
one of the most effective things in eloquence ; it im- 
presses the auditor, elicits his attention, and calls forth 
his applause. A good orator may hold an audience al- 
most breathless under its influence. But care should 
be taken not to use the protracted suspensive pause, but 



14 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

when the subject is of sufficient magnitude to bear the 
speaker out in its adoption ; for if it be recurred to fre- 
quently, and upon trivial occasions, censure will be the 
result. The effect is to be produced by stopping and 
suspending the voice immediately before the passage, 
or part of a sentence, by which you mean to make what 
is in oratory called your point. When you stop, let it 
be with an elevation of voice, which will leave the 
sense broken and incomplete, then your hearers, being 
in expectation of something superlative, will, when it 
comes, amply reward you for the excitement and gra- 
tification of their expectations. There are two ways of 
reading the protracted suspensive pause. The one is, 
when you suspend in a loud tone, you should terminate 
m a subdued tone ; and the reverse. Independently of 
the particular power above attributed to suspension in 
the protracted sense, there is another and a slighter kind 
of suspension, which has a general power over eloquence, 
for by that keeping up of the voice, while the necessary 
breathing time is taking, a disjunction of the sense, 
and a stop to the harmony of the subject, which would 
otherwise continually occur, is prevented, some senten- 
ces being so long that a speaker could not have suffi- 
cient breath to go through them, even rapidly, much less 
to give them force and harmony, unless he were to have 
recourse to suspension, which carries him and the 
meaning evenly along until it set both down safely at 
he period. Its power is such, that the speaker may 
stop when and where he pleases, without injury to the 
sense, if he be a perfect master of its use. 

Examples of the protracted Suspensive Pause. 

M And Nathan said to David thou art the man." 

M It is an attribute to God himself." 



•* Born for your use, I live but to obey you, 

Know then 'twas I ! !" 

Tragedy of the Revenge, ActL, 



ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 15 

VIII. PARENTHESIS 

Parenthesis, says Dr. Johnson, is a sentence so in- 
cluded in another sentence, as that it may be taken out 
without injuring the sense of that which encloses it* 
This figure, rather used to impart variety than elegance 
to composition, should be read or spoken in a quicker 
and a lower tone of voice than the general subject. The 
reader or speaker, should slightly suspend his voice im- 
mediately before the parenthesis, and take up the same 
tone at its close. 



Examples. 

* This moon, which rose last night, (round as my shield,) 
Had not yet filled her horns, when, (by her light,) 
A band of fierce barbarians," &c. 

44 Beneath a mountain's brow, (the most remote 
And inaccessible by shepherds trod,) 
In a deep cave, (dug by no mortal hand,) 
An hermit liv'd," &c. 

Tragedy op Douglas. 

" If there's a power above us, 
(And that there is all nature cries aloud 
Through all her works,) he must delight in virtue." 

Tragedy of Cato. 

" Farewell, a long farewell to all my greatness I 
This is the state of man ; to-day he puts forth 
The tender leaves of hope ; to morrow blossoms, 
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him ; 
The third day comes a frost, (a killing frost,) 
And when he thinks, (good easy man,) full surely 
His greatness is a ripening, nips his shoot, 
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured* 
(Like little wanton boys, that swim on bladders,) 
These many summers in a sea of glory : 
But far beyond my depth : my high blown pride 
At length broke under me ; and now has left me, 
(Weary and old with service,) to the mercy 
Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me. 

Henry thk tob 



16 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

IX. ANTITHESIS. 

Antithesis arises in a sentence or line where words 
are opposed to each other. This figure gives force to 
meaning, and variety to utterance, and should be read 
or spoken with a particular stress on the words in op- 
position. 

'Examples. 

11 Had you rather Caesar were living, and die all slaves, than that 
Caesar were dead, to live all freemen ?" 

Tragedy of Julius Cjesar. 

" Is it credible that when he declined putting Clodius to death 
with the consent of all, that he would choose to do it with the disap- 
probation of many ? Can you believe that the person whom he 
scrupled to slay, when he might have done so with full justice — in 
a convenient place — at a proper time — with secure impunity, he 
made no scruple to murder — against justice — in an unfavourable 
place — at an unseasonable time — and at the risk of capital condem- 
nation?" 

Cicero for Milo. 

" So, also, is the resurrection of the dead. It is sown in corrup 
tion, it is raised in in corruption : It is sown in dishonour, it is raised 
in glory : It is sown in weakness, it is raised in power : It is sown 
a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body." 

1 Cor. XV. Chap. 42nd Verse. 

X. MONOTONY, OR MONOTONE. 

Monotone occurs in those parts of a subject where 
several words follow each other, without requiring any 
variation of voice, or particular stress upon one word 
more than another. This figure often imparts sublimi- 
ty, and from its own want of variety, bestows variety 
upon that to which it is attached. It should be read ox 
spoken with unvarying sameness. 

Examples. 

** For who would bear the whips and scorns o''the time. 
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, 
The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay, 
The insolence of office, and the spurns 



ESSA < ON ELOCUTION. 1? 

That patieni merit of the unworthy takes, 
When he himself might his quietus make 
With a bare bodkin ? Who would fardels I , 
To groan and sweat under a weary life ; 
But that the dread of something after death, 
That undiscover'd country, from whose bourn 
No traveller returns, — puzzles the will, 
And makes us rather bear tho^e ills we have, 
Than fly to others that we know wot of ? 
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all \ 
And thus the native hue of resolutkm 
Is sicklied o r er with the pale cast of thought ; 
And enterprises of great pith and moment, 
With this regard their currents turn awry, 
And lose the name of action." 



Hamlet 



u High on a throne of royal state, which far 
Outshone the wealth of Ormus and of Ind, 
Or where the gorgeous East with richest hand 
Show'is on her king's barbaric pearl and gold, 
Satan exalted sat * 



Milton. 



'•In thoughts from the visions of the night, when deep sleep fal 
leth on men, fear came upon me, and trembling, which made all my 
bones to shake. Then a spirit passed before my face ; the hair of my 
flesh stood up : it stood still, but I could not discern the form there- 
of: an image was before mine eyes, there was silence, and I heard 
a voice, saying, shall mortal man be more just than God ? Shall a 
man be more pure than his Maker? Behold, he put no trust in his 
servants ; and his angels he charged w r ith folly: How much less 
in them that dwell in houses of clay, whose foundation is in the dust, 
which arc crushed before the moth. They are destroyed from morn- 
ing to evening ; they perish forever without any regarding it." 

Job, 4th Chap. 13 — 20th vehses* 

" As autumn's dark storms pour from two echoing hilts, so to- 
wards each other approached the heroes. As two dark streams from 
high rocks meet and mix, and roar on the plain ; loud, rough and 
dark in battle, met Laughlin and Innisfail : Chief mixed his strokes 
with chief, and man with man. Steel clanging sounded on steeL 
Helmets are cleft on high ; blood bursts md smokes around. As the 
troubled noise of the ocean when roll the waves on high ; as the 
last peal of the thunder of heaven ; such is the noise of battle." 

OSSIAN. 

«« In my distress I called upon the Lord, and cried unto my God: 
he heard my voice out of his temple, and my cry came before him. 

2 



]S ESSAY ON ELOCUTION 

Then the earth shook and trembled ; the foundations, also, of ihb 
hills moved and were shaken, because he was wroth. There went 
up a smoke out of his nostrils, and fire out of his mouth devoured: 
He bowed the heavens, also, and came down ; and darkness was un- 
der his feet ; — and he rode upon a cherub, and did fly : yea, he did 
fly upon the wings of the wind." 

I8th PSALM, 6— 10th VER3ES. 

•• In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. And 
the earth was without form and void ; and darkness was upon the 
face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the 
waters. And God said, * let there be light,' and there was light." 

Gekesis, 1st and 3d verses. 

Note. — The above extracts, save the first, are examples of the 
sublime, as well as of Monotone. 

XL MODULATION. 

In Modulation are comprehended all the various in- 
flections of which the voice is capable. It may, indeed, 
be termed the soul or witchery of eloquence ; for through 
its medium the sense is charmed, the imagination taken 
prisoner, and the most obdurate softened and relaxed. 
The effect of Modulation upon the heart must ever be 
acknowledged, as long as the human ear can drink the 
harmony of its sounds. To attempt a system of ac- 
curately teaching this delightful power, would be in- 
deed vain and futile ; # nothing but being possessed of 

* Mr. Walker, and others, have made very ingenious remarks ty- 
pified on paper, on the inflections of the human voice ; but a just 
knowledge of the true causes which produce those inflections, will 
preclude the necessity of any study on the subject, save of the rules 
to be found in this, and similar books, and of a just conception, as 
has been above stated, of the author's meaning, which conception 
will impart the true feeling, and out of that feeling, will arise the 
natural, and, consequently, the proper, inflection, which marks on pa 
per can never correctly convey. Mr. "Walker's own words, give cre- 
dence to these observations. In his preface to the third Edition of 
his Rhetorical Grammar, he says, — "The sanguine expectations I 
had once entertained, that this analysis of the human voice, would 
be received by the learned with avidity, and applause, are now over; 
I have almost worn out along life in laborious exertions, and though 
I have succeeded, beyond expectation, in forming readers, and speak- 
ers, in the most respectable circles in the three kingdoms, yet I have 
had the mortification, to find few of my pupils listen to anything, 



ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. W 

a chastely correct ear, sensibly alive to the good feel- 
ings of nature, being perfectly master of your subject, 
and letting it fully and exclusively occupy your mind, 
can ever enable you to attain modulation. In- 
stead of paying attention to the different heights, and keys 
which are said to produce modulation, but which m reality 
modulation gives even a name to, it is here recommend- 
ed to every speaker, to commence his subject in a tone 
sufficiently audible to be perfectly heard ; then he can 
rise, and afterwards fall, as sense and feeling, in con- 
junction with the rules of this essay and the five in- 
flections of the voice dictate. Those who are possessed 
of the requisites already mentioned, will find in the fol- 
lowing, fit exercises of modulation ; but the student 
will have much to do before he can be capable of 
reading or reciting, with any prospect of success, such 
surpassing efforts of poetic genius. 
Examples. 
O thou that with surpassing glory crown'd 
Look'st from thy sole dominion, like the God 
Of this new world ; at whose sight all the stars 
Hide their diminish'd heads ; to thee I call, 
But with no friendly voice, and add thy name, 

Sun, to tell thee how I hate thy beams, 
That bring to my remembrance from what state 

1 fell, how glorious once above thy sphere ; 
Till pride and worse ambition threw me down, 
Warring in heav'n against heav'n's matchless King. 
Ah wherefore ! he deserv'd no such return 

From me, whom he created what I was, 
In that bright eminence, and with his good 
Upbraided none ; nor was his service hard. 
What could be less than to afford him praise, 
The easiest recompense, and pay him thanks, 
How due ! yet all his good prov'd ill in me, 
And wrought but malice ; lifted up so high 
I'sdain'd subjection, and thought one step higher 
Would set me high'st, and in a moment quit 
The debt immense of endless gratitude, 
So burdensome still paying, still to owe, 

but my pronunciation. When I have explained to them, the five 
modifications of the voice, they have assented and admired, but so 
difficult did it appear to adopt them, especially to those advanced in 
life, that I was obliged to follow the old method, — read as I read." 



20 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

Forgetful what from him I still reeeiv'd m r 

And understood not that a grateful mind 

By owing owes not, but still pays, at once 

Indebted and discharged ; what burden then T 

O had his powerful destiny ordain'd 

Me some inferior angel, I had stood 

Then happy ; no unbounded hope had rais'd 

Ambition. Yet why not ? Some other power 

As great might have aspir'd, and me, though mean* 

Drawn to his part ; but other pow'rs as great 

Fell not, but stand unshaken, from within 

Or from without, to all temptations arm'd. 

Hadst thou the same free will and pow'r to stand? 

Thou hadst : Whom hast thou then, or what to accuse, 

But heav'n's free love dealt equally to all ? 

Be then his love accurs'd, since love or hate, 

To me alike, it deals eternal woe. 

Nay curs-d be thou ; since against his thy will 

Chose freely what it now so justly rues. 

Me miserable I which way shall I fly 

Infinite wrath, and infinite despair? 

Which way 1 fly is hell ; myself am hell ; 

And, in the lowest deep, a lower deep 

Still threading to devour me opens wide* 

To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven. 

O then at last relent : Is there no place 

Left for repentance, none for pardon left ? 

None left but by submission ; and that word 

Disdain forbids me, and my dread of shame 

Among the sp'rits beneath, whom I sedue'd 

With other promises and other vaunts 

Than to submit, boasting I could subdue 

Th' Omnipotent. Ah me, they little know 

How dearly I abide that boast so vain, 

Under what torments inwardly I groan, 

While they adore me on the throne of hell, 

With diadem and sceptre high advane'd, 

The lower still I fall, only supreme 

In misery : Such joy ambition finds. 

But say I could repent, and could obtain, 

By act of grace, my former state ; how soon 

Would height recall high thoughts, how soon unsay 

What feign'd submission swore ? ease would recant 

Vows made in pain, as violent and void. 

For never can true reconcilement grow 

Where wounds of deadly hate have piere'd so deep : 

Which would but lead me to a worse relapse, 

And heavier falV : So should I purchase dear 

Short intermission bought with double smart. 

This knows my punisher : therefore as far 



ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

From granting he, as I from begging peace: 
All hope excluded thus, behold instead 
Of us outcast, exil'd, his new delight, 
Mankind created, and for him this world. 
So farewell hope, and with hope farewell fear, 
Farewell remorse : All good to me is lost ; 
Evil be thou my good : By thee at least 
Divided empire with heav'n's King I hold, 
By thee, and more than half perhaps will reign ; 
As man ere long, and this new world shall know. 

Milton. 

TWAS at the royal feast, for Persia won 
By Philip's warlike son. 
Aloft in awful state, 
The godlike hero sat 
On his imperial throne. 

His valiant peers were plac'd around, 
Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound, 

So should desert in arms be crown'd. 
The lovely Thais by his side, 
Sat like a blooming eastern bride, 
In flower of youth and beauty's pride. 

Happy, happy, happy pair! 

None but the brave, 

None but the brave, 
None but the brave, deserve the fair. 
Timotheus plac'd on high, 

Amid the tuneful choir, 

With flying fingers touch'd the lyre : 
The trembling notes ascend the sky, 

And heavenly joys inspire. 
The song began from Jove, 
Who left his blissful seats above ; 
Such is the power of mighty love I 
A dragon's fiery form bely'd the god ; 
Sublime on radiant spheres he rode. 

When he the fair Olympia press'd, 
***** 

And stamp'd an image of himself, a sovereign of the world. 

The list'ning crowd admire the lofty sound; 
A present deity, they shout around ; 
A present deity ; the vaulted roofs rebound. 

With ravish'd ears the monarch hears, 

Assumes the god, affects to nod, 
And seems to shake the spheres. 
The praise of Bacchus, then, the sweet musician sung; 
Of Bacchus, ever fair and ever young". 

The jolly god in triumph cornea ! 



21 



ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

Sound the trumpet ; beat the drums ■ 

Flush'd with a purple grace, 

He shows his honest face : 
Now give the hautboys breath — He comes ! he comes! 
Bacchus, ever fair and young, 
Drinking joys did first ordain ; 

Bacchus' blessings are a treasure ; 

Drinking is the soldier's pleasure : 

Rich the treasure ; 

Sweet the pleasure ; 
Sweet is pleasure, after pain. 
Sooth'd with the sound, the king grew vain 
Fought all his battles o'er again ; 
And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain* 
The master saw the madness rise ; 
His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes ; 
And while he heaven and earth defy'd, 
Chang'd his hand and check'd his pride 

He chose a mournful muse, 

Soft pity to infuse : 
He sung Darius, great and good, 

By too severe a fate, 

Fall'n, fall'n, fall'n, fall'n, 

Fall'n from his high estate, 

And welt'ring in his blood : 
Deserted at his utmost need 
By those his former bounty fed, 
On the bare earth expos'd he lies, 
With not a friend to close his eyes 

With downcast look the joyless victor sat, 
Revolving, in his alter'd soul, 

The various turns of fate below ; 
And now and then, a sigh he stole, 

And tears began to flow. 
The mighty master smiled to see, 
That love was in the next degree : 
'Twas but a kindred sound to move ; 
For pity melts the mind to love. 
Softly sweet, in Lydian measures, 
Soon he sooth'd his soul to pleasures 
War, he sung, is toil and trouble; 
Honor but an empty bubble ; 

Never ending, still beginning, 
Fighting still, and still destroying. 

If the world be worth thy winning, 
Think, oh, think it worth enjoying ! 

Lovely Thais sits beside thee : 

Take the good the gods provide thee ; 
The many rend the skies with loud applause j 
So love was crown'd, but music won the causa. 



ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

The prince, unable to conceal his pain, 
Gazed on the fair, 
Who caus'd his care ; 
And sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd and looked ; 
Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again : 
At length with love and wine at once oppress'd, 
The vanquish'd victor — sunk upon her breast. 
Now, strike the golden lyre again ; 
A louder yet, and yet a louder strain ; 
Break his bands of sleep asunder, 
And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder. 
Hark ! hark ! — the horrid sound 
Has rais'd up his head, 
As awaken'd from the dead ; 
And, amazed, he stares around. 
Revenge, revenge ! Timotheus cries- 
See the furies arise ! 

See the snakes that they rear, 
How they hiss in their hair, 
And the sparkles that flash from their eyes ! 
Behold a ghastly band, 
Each a torch in his hand ! 
These are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain. 
And unbury'd, remain 
Inglorious on the piain. 
Give the vengeance due 
To the valiant crew. 
Behold ! how they toss their torches on high, 
How they point to the Persian abodes, 
And glittering temples of their hostile gods! 
The princes applaud, with a furious joy; 
And the king seiz'd a flambeau, with zeal to destroy; 
Thais led the way, 
To light him to his prey; 
And, like another Helen — fir'd another Troy. 
Thus, long ago, 

Ere heaving bellows learn'd to blow, 
While organs yet were mute ; 
Timotheus, to his breathing flute 
And sounding lyre, 
Could swell the soul to rage- -or kindle soft desire. 
At last, divine Cecilia came, 
Inventress of the vocal frame. 
The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, 
Enlarg'd the former narrow bounds, 
And added length to solemn sounds, 
With Nature's mother- wit, and arts unknown before. 
Let old Timotheus yield the prize, 
Or both divide the crown : 



ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

He raised a mortal to the skies ; 
She drew an angel down. 



I. 

On Linden, when the sun was low, 

All bloodless lay the untrodden snow, 
And dark as winter was the flow 
Of Iser rolling rapidly. 

II. 

But Linden saw another sight, 
When the drum beat at dead of night 
Commanding fires of death to light 
The darkness of her scenery. 

III. 

By torch and trumpet fast array'd 
Each horseman drew his battle blade, 
And furious every charger neigh'd, 
To join the dreadful revelry. 

IV. 

Then shook the hills with thunder riv'n, 
Then rush'd the steed to battle driv'n, 
And louder than the bolts of heaven, 
Far flash'd the red artillery. 

V. 

And redder yet those fires shall glow, 
On Linden's hills of blood-stain'd snow, 
And darker yet shall be the flow 
Of Iser rolling rapidly. 

VI. 

'Tis morn, but scarce yon lurid sun 
Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, 
Where furious Frank, and fiery Hun, 
Shout in their sulph'rous canopy. 

VII. 

The combat deepens. On, ye brave, 
Who rush to glory, or the grave ! 
Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave! 
And charge with all thy chivalry ! 



ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

VIIL 

Ah ! few shall part where many meet, 
The snow shall be their winding sheet 
And every turf beneath their feet, 
Shall be a soldier's sepulchre. 

Campbell, 

WHEN Music, heavenly maid ! was young, 
While yet in early Greece she sung, 
The Passions oft, to hear her shell, 
Throng'd around her magic cell ; 
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, 
Possess'd beyond the Muse's painting. 
By turns, they felt the glowing mind 
Disturbed, delighted, rais'd, refined : 
Till once, 'tis said, when all were fir'd, 
Fill'd with fury, rapt, inspir'd, 
From the supporting myrtles round, 
They snatched her instruments of sound; 
And, as they oft had heard apart, 
Sweet lessons of her forceful art, 
Each, for madness rul'd the hour, 
Would prove his own expressive power. 
First, Fear, his hand, its skill to try, 

Amid the chords bewilder'd laid ; 
And back recoil'd, he knew not why, 

E'en at the sound himself had made. 
Next Anger rush'd, his eyes on fire, 

In lightnings own'd his secret stings, 
With one rude clash he struck the lyre, 

And swept with hurried hand the strings, 
With woful measures, wan Despair — 

Low, sullen sounds his grief beguil'd : 
A solemn, strange, and mingled air : 

'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild. 
But thou, O Hope ! with eyes so fair, 

What was thy delighted measure ? 

Still it whisper'd promis'd pleasure, 
And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail. 
Still would her touch the strain prolong : 

And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, 
She call'd on Echo still through all her song : 

And where her sweetest theme she chose, 

A soft responsive voice was heard at every close ; 
And Hope, enchanted, smil'd and waved her golden hair 

And longer had she sung — but, with a frown, 
Revenge impatient rose. 

He threw his blood-stain'd sword in thunder down J 
And with a withering look, 

3 



26 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

The war-denouncing trumpet took, 
And blew a blast so loud and dread, 

Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of wo ; 
And, ever and anon, he beat 
The doubling drum with furious heat : 
And though, sometimes, each dreary pause between, 
Dejected Pity at his side, 
Her soul-subduing voice applied, 
Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mien, [head. 

While each strain'd ball of sight — seemed bursting from his 
Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd ; 

Sad proof of thy distressful state ; 
Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd : 

And, now it courted Love ; now, raving, cali'd on Hate 
With eyes uprais'd, as one inspired, 
Pale Melancholy sat retir'd ; 
And, from her wild sequester'd seat, 
In notes, by distance made more sweet, 
Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul, 
And, dashing soft from rocks around, 
Bubbling, runnels join'd the sound: 
Through glades and glooms, the mingled measure stole, 
Or o'er some haunted stream with fond delay, 
Round a holy calm diffusing, 
Love of peace, and lonely musing, 
In hollow murmurs died away. 
But, Oh, how alter'd was its sprightlier tone ! 
When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, 
Her bow across her shoulder flung, 
Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew, 
Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung, 
The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known ; 
The oak crown'd Sisters, and their chaste ey'd Queen, 
Satyrs and sylvan Boys were seen, 
Peeping forth from alleys green ; 
Brown Exercise rejoie'd to hear ; 

And Sport leap'd up and seiz'd his beechen spear. 
Last came Joy's ecstatic trial, 
He with viny crown advancing, 
First to the lively pipe his hand address' d — 
But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol ; 
Whose sweet entrancing voice he lov'd the best. 
They would have thought who heard the strain, 
They saw in Tempe's vale, her native maids, 

Amidst the festal sounding shades, 
To some unwearied minstrel dancing : 
While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings, 
Love fram'd with Mirth a gay fantastic round, 
Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound, 



ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 27 

And he, amidst his frolic play, 
As if he would the charming air repay, 
Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings. 

O Music, sphere-descended maid, 

Friend of Pleasure, Wisdom's aid, 

Why, goddess, why, to us denied, 

Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside ? 

As in that lov'd Athenian bower 

You learn'd in all commanding power, 

Thy mimic soul, O nymph endear'd, 

Can well recall what then it heard. 

Where is thy native simple heart, 

Devote to Virtue, Fancy, Art ? 

Arise, as in the elder time, 

Warm, energic, chaste, sublime ! 

Thy wonders, in that godlike age, 

Fill thy recording sister's page— 

'Tis said, and I believe the tale, 

Thy humblest reed could more prevail, 

Had more of strength, diviner rage, 

Than all which charms this laggard age, 

Ev'n all at once together found, 

Cecilia's mingled world of sound — 

O, bid our vain endeavours cease, 

Revive the just designs of Greece ; 

Return in all thy simple state ; 

Confirm the tales her sons relate ! Collins. 

XII. ENUMERATION, OE AMPLIFICATION. 

Enumeration is that figure which numbers up the 
perfections or defects of persons or things, or which 
brings under one head the several parts of an argument, 
and, like the concentration of artillery in battle, when 
brought to act upon any given point, bears down all be- 
fore it. This figure admits of various modes of deliv- 
ery, agreeably to the nature of the subjects which may 
be enumerated, but monotone is recurred to oftener tha;> 
any other mode. 



Examples. 
" Heavens ! what a goodly prospect spreads around 
Of hills and dales, of woods, and lawns, and spires, 
And glittering towns, and gilded streams, till all 
The stretching landscape into smoke decays." 

Thomson's Seasons, 



88 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

" O now forever, 
Farewell the tranquil mind ! farewell content I 
Farewell the plumed troops and the big war 
That make ambition virtue! O farewell i 
Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump, 
The spirit-stirring drum, the ear piercing fife, 
The royal banner ; and all quality, 
Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war! 
And O you mortal engines, whose rude throats 
The immortal Jove's dread clamors counterfeit, 
Farewell ! Othello's occupation's gone." 

Tragedy of Othello. 

•" Is it come to this ? shall an inferior magistrate, a governor, who 
holds his whole power of the Roman people, in a Roman province, 
within sight of Italy, bind, scourge, torture with fire and red hot 
plates of iron, and at last, put to the infamous death of the cross, a 
Roman citizen ? Shall neither the cries of innocence expiring in ago- 
ny, nor the tears of pitying spectators, nor the majesty of the Ro- 
man Commonwealth, nor the fear of the justice of his country, re- 
strain the licentious and wanton cruelty of a monster, who, in con- 
fidence of his riches, strikes at the root of liberty and sets mankind 
at defiance V Cicero against Verres. 

" I cannot name this gentleman, without remarking, that his la- 
bors, and writings, have done much to open the eyes and the hearts 
of mankind. He has visited all Europe — not to survey the sumptii- 
ousness of palaces, or the stateliness of temples ; not to make accurate 
measurements of the remains of ancient grandeur, nor to form a 
scale of the curiosities of modern art ; not to collect medals, or col- 
late manuscripts ; but to dive into the depths of dungeons ; to 
plunge into the infection of hospitals ; to survey the mansions of 
sorrow and of pain, and to take the guage and dimensions of misery, 
depression, and contempt ; to remember the forgotten ; to attend to 
the neglected ; to visit the forsaken ; and to compare, and collate, 
the distresses of all men in all countries." 

Burke's Eulogium on Howard. 

Extract from a Sermon of the Rev. Thomas Gisborne, 
M. A. on the happiness attendant on the paths of religion. 

" Her ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace. 1 * 

Prov. iii. 17. 

" Among the internal demonstrations of the truth of Christianity, 
the excellence of the appropriate lessons respectively addressed in the 
sacred writings to different descriptions of men, holds a distinguished 
place. To the wicked the scripture speaks the language of indig- 
nation, tempered with offers of mercy. To the penitent it promises 



ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 29 

forgiveness. The righteous it animates with triumphant hope. To 
the ignorant it holds forth instruction ; to the unwary, caution ; to 
the presumptuous, humility ; to the feeble-minded, support ; to the 
wavering, perseverance ; to the dispirited, encouragement ; to tha 
afflicted, consolation. Who but that power who discerns every va« 
riety of the human disposition ; every winding of the human heart, 
could have been the author of a religion thus provided with a reme. 
dy for every corruption ; a defence under every weakness ?" 

Extract from pleadings of Sir George McKenzie against 
a woman accused of the murder of her child. 

•* Gentlemen, if one man had any how slain another, if an ad v er. 
sary had killed his opposer, or a woman occasioned the death of her 
enemy, even these criminals would have been capitally punished by 
the Cornelian law; but, if this guiltless infant, who could make no 
enemy, had been murdered by its own nurse, what punishment would 
not then the mother have demanded ? with what cries and exclama- 
tions would she have stunned our ears? What shall w T e say then, 
when a woman., guilty of homicide, a mother, of the murder of her 
innocent child, hath comprised all those misdeeds in one single crime ; 
a crime, in its own nature detestable ; in a woman prodigious ; in a 
mother, incredible; and perpetrated against one whose age called for 
compassion, whose near relation claimed affection, and whose inno- 
cence deserved the highest favour ?" 

XIII. PAUSES. 

The number, names, and utility of the pauses used 
in reading and speaking-, must be too well known to 
need description here. Perhaps it may not be superfluous 
to make two or three remarks ; first, that the interroga- 
tory point has two inflections, the rising and the falling 
one. The rising, when the question is formed without 
an interrogative word at its commencement, the falling, 
when an interrogative word commences it. Example 
of the first. 



" Suppose a person generally well informed, can he say that his 
education is perfect, if, when asked to read or recite, he feel inade 
quate V* 

Of the last. 

" Who is here so base, that would be a bondman ? Who is here 
so rude, that would not be a Roman? Who is here so vile, that 
would not love his country V 

3* 



30 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

When the two parts of a question are connected by 
the conjunction or, the first has the rising and the last 
the falling inflection. Example : 

" Who was the greater man, Caesar or Alexander f 

The same rule exists when an affirmative and a nega- 
tive are opposed to each other. Example. 

" He deserves censure, not eulogy. 19 

Breaks are pauses which cut a subject short before 
the meaning is fully developed. They generally occur 
when extreme grief or violent rage agitates the human 
breast. 

Example. 

*' Darkness and demons! 
Saddle my horses; call my train together: 
Degenerate viper — n 

Tragedy of Leab. 

The period should be marked by a depression of 
voice, sufficient to denote the completion of the sense, 
but great care must be taken not to lower the tone to 
such a degree as to endanger the loss of the last word 
of the line, or sentence : a fault frequently observable, 
even in some eminent public speakers. 

XIV. IRONY. 

Irony is a rhetorical figure, which gives a meaning 
contrary to the words expressed, and is productive of 
very great effect, if not too frequently used. Irony ad- 
mits of various modes of delivery agreeing with the 
subjects which may occur, but monotone is most used. 

Irony often excites our laughter, and sometimes our 
contempt and disgust. The three first examples which 
follow make us smile, the last elicits our disgust. 
Examples. 

" What drugs, what charms, what conjuration, and what migh- 
ty magio ,» Othello. 



ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 3f 

M Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednesday last. 
You spurn'd me such a day: another time 
You call'd me dog; and for these — courtesies 
1*11 lend you thus much moneys.' 1 

Merchant of Venice. 

Charming house, and charming lady of the house, ha! 
nai htt! >J Jealous Wife. 

"No wars have ravaged these lands, and depopulated these vil- 
lages — no civil diseord has been felt, no disputed succession, no 
i«ligious rage — no cruel enemy — no affliction of Providence, 
which, while it scourged for a moment, cut off the sources of re- 
suscitation — no voracious and poisoning monsters — noj all this 
has been accomplished by the friendship, generosity and kindness 
of the English nation. " 

Sheridan against Warren Hastings. 

XV. ALLITERATION. 

Alliteration is a figure which occurs when several 
words, commencing with the same letter, immediately 
follow each other. If too often used it will pall ; but if 
seldom resorted to, it will give a pleasing variety to the 
subject into which it is introduced. This figure is read 
or spoken in monotone, climax, anti-climax, and paren- 
thesis. 

Examples. 
The sun, the soil, but not the slave the same." 

Lord Byron. 

" And hath a sound, 
And sense, and sight of sweetness.' 5 Ibid. 

w Unknell'd, uneoffined, and unknown." Ibid. 

"He rush'd into the field, and foremost fighting- fell." 

Ibid. 

• The. humanity, harmony, and happiness ." 

DWYER. 

"Mind, manners, magnanimity, mercy, 

Make the man." Ibid. 

• Wan is *obnoxious to pain, penury, and pestilence." — Ibid 

• This word is often improperly used both in speaking and wri- 
ting for noxious. 



32 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 



XVI. INTERROGATION. 

Of all figures, this is the most overwhelming and 
rapid ; but it should never be employed in unfolding the 
principles upon which a discourse is established ; for it 
causes obscurity, and a species of declamation, offensive 
to persons of good taste. The success of interrogation 
is infallible, when propeily employed. A memorable 
example of it occurs, when Tully, unable to express the 
lively indignation of his patriotic zeal, rushes abruptly 
upon Catiline, and instantly overwhelms him by the ve 
hemence of his interrogations. 

"How long, Oh Catiline, wilt thou abuse our patience? How 
long shall thy madness elude us? Whither will thy ungovernable 
audacity impel thee? Could neither the nightly garrison of the 
citadel, nor the watch of the city, nor the general consternation, 
nor the congress of all good men, nor this strongly fortified place 
where the Senate is held, nor the enraged countenances of those 
senators,, deter thee from thy impious designs ? Dost thou not 
perceive that thy counsels are all discovered? Thinkest thou 
that there are any of us ignorant of thy transactions the past night, 
the place of rendezvous, thy collected associates?" 



By using such language as this, the orator leaves not 
a moment's time for false or evasive replication, but para- 
lyzes the accused, by irresistibly showing the extent and 
enormity of his guilt, thus rendered as apparent to the 
astonished auditor, as it is overwhelming to the trem- 
bling criminal. Dr. Blair says, " Interrogations are 
passionate figures. They are, indeed, on so many oc- 
casions, the native language of passion, that their use is 
extremely frequent : and in ordinary conversation, when 
men are heated, they prevail as much as in the most 
sublime oratory. The unfigured literal use of interro- 
gation is to ask a question ; but when men are prompted 
iy passion, whatever they would affirm, or deny, with 
great vehemence, they naturally put in the form of a 
question ; expressing thereby the strongest confidence 
of the truth of their own sentiments, and appealing to 



ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 33 

their hearers for the impossibility of the contrary. Thus, 
in scripture : 

M God is not a man — that he should lie, neither the son of man 
that he should repent. Hath he said ? and shall he not do it ? or 
hath he spoken ? and shall he not make it good V 9 

Demosthenes addressing himself to the Athenians, 
says, 

** Tell me, will you still go about and ask one another, what 
news? What can be more astonishing news than this, that the 
man of Macedon makes war upon the Athenians, and disposes of 
the affairs of Greece? Is Philip dead? No, but he is sick. What 
signifies it to you whether he be dead or alive? For if anything 
happen to this Philip, you will immediately raise up another." 

All this, delivered without interrogation, had been 
faint and ineffectual ; but the warmth and eagerness, 
which this questioning method expresses, awaken the 
hearers, and strike them with much greater force." 



XVII. ITERATION OR REPETITION 

BY SOME CALLED ECHO. 

Iteration serves to strengthen and enforce argument, 
and in many instances, produces great force and beauty. 
Iteration should be read or spoken in the same manner 
as the subject from which the repetition occurs. 

Examples. 

" As Caesar loved me, I weep for him; as he was fortunate, I 
rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I honor him; but as he was ambi- 
tious, I slew him." 

" There are tears for his love; joy for his fortune; honor for 
his valor; and death for his ambition." Julius Cjesar. 

fc There still remains that which is even paramount to the law. 
That great tribunal which the wisdom of our ancestors raised in 
this country for the support of the people's rights — That tribunal 
■which has made the law — That tribunal which has given me you 
to look at — That tribunal which is surrounded with a hedge as it 
Were set about it — That tribunal which from age to age has been 
fighting for the liberties of the people, and without the aid of which 



34 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

it would have been in vain for me to stand up before you, or to 
think of looking round for assistance." 

Erskine for Took, on Trial by Jury. 

" With thee conversing I forget all time, 
All seasons, and their change; all please alike. 
Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, 
With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the sun 
When first on this delightful land he spreads 
His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower, 
Glistering with dew; fragrant the fertile earth 
After soft showers, and sweet the coming on 
Of grateful evening mild; then silent night 
With this her solemn bird, and this fair moon, 
And these, the gems of heaven, Ifer starry train; 
But neither breath of morn, when she ascends 
With charm of earliest birds, nor rising sun 
On this delightful land: nor herb, fruit, flower, 
Glistering with dew; nor fragrance after shOw'rs, 
Nor grateful evening mild; nor silent night, 
With this her solemn bird; nor walk by moon, 
Or glittering star light — without thee is sweet." 

Milton's Paradise Lost. 

XVIII. PERSONATION. 

Personation is the representation by a single reader 
or speaker of the words, manner and actions of one per- 
son, or of many individuals, as if he or they were them- 
selves reading or speaking ; in effect " giving form to 
fancy, and embodying thought." 

This power is capable of producing an effect nearly 
equal to scenic representation, in which each part is in- 
dividually performed. Indeed, if the reader or reciter 
be adequate to the task, he may elicit an approbation 
far surpassing that received by the many, for he seems 
to concentrate all their powers within himself. The 
person so gifted must be a consummate reader or speak- 
er. This figure is more materially connected with dra- 
matic than any other style of composition, although it 
is sometimes resorted to in all oratorical subjects. It 
depends upon a perfect conception of the Author's mean- 
ing, a facility of imitation, and a variety of expression 
in voice and manner, which can only be acquired, even 
where the capability eminently exists, by much labor and 
continual practice. 



ESSA1 ON FLOCUTION. 35 

In the exercise of this figure, especial care should be 
taken not to outrage the rule laid down by the greatest 
master and depicter of human nature that ever wrote 
upon its subject: i. e. " not to o'erstep the modesty of 
nature; for in the very torrent, tempest and, as I may say, 
whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and beget 
a temperance that may give it smoothness ; hold, as 
'twere, the mirror up to nature ; show virtue her own 
feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and 
body of the time, his form and pressure." 

Examples. 

" Not far advanced was morning day, 
When Marmion did his troop array, 

To Surrey's camp to ride; 
He had safe conduct for his band, 
Beneath the royal seal and hand, 

And Douglas gave a guide: 
The ancient Earl, with stately grace, 
Would Clara on her palfrey place, 
And whisper'd in an under tone, 
1 Let the hawk stoop, his prey is flown.' 
The train from out the castle drew, 
But Marmion stopped to bid adieu: 

' Though something I might plain, 5 he said, 
c Of cold respect to stranger guest, 
Sent hither by your king's behest, 

While in Tantallon's towers I staid, 
Part we in friendship from your land, 
And, noble Earl, receive my hand.' 
But Douglas round him drew his cloak, 
Folded his arms and thus he spoke : 
*My manors, halls, and bowers, shall still 
Be open at my Sovereign's will, 
To each one whom he lists, howe'er 
Unmeet to be the owner's peer, 
My castles are my king's alone, 
From turret to foundation stone, 
The hand of Douglas is his own; 
And never shall in friendly grasp 
The hand of such as Marmion clasp.' 
Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire, 
And shook his very frame for ire; 

And c This to me !' he said; 
An t'were not for thy hoary beard, 
Such hand as Marmion* s had not spared 

To cleave the Douglas 5 head! 



36 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

Anil first, I tell thee, haughty peer, 
He, who does England's message here, 
Although the meanest of her state, 
May well, proud Angus, be thy mate: 
And, Douglas, more I tell thee here, 

E'en in thy pitch of pride, 
Here in thy hold, thy vassals near, 
Nay, never look upon thy lord, 
And lay thy hand upon thy sword, 

I tell thee, thou'rt defied! 
And if thou said'st I am not peer, 
To any lord in Scotland here, 
Lowland or Highland, far or near, 

Lord Angus, thou hast lied!' 
On the Earl's cheek the flush of rage 
O'ercame the ashen hue of age: 
Fierce he broke forth : ' And darest thou then 
To beard the lion in his den, 

The Douglas in his hall? 
And hop*st thou hence unscathed to go? 
No, by Saint Bryde of Bothwell, no! 
Up drawbridge, grooms — what, Warder, ho! 

Let the port cullis fall.' 
Lord Marmion turned, well was his need, 
And dashed the rowels in his steed, 
Like arrow through the arch way sprung 
The pond'rous grate behind him rung: 
To pass there was such scanty room, 
The bars, descending, razed his plume. 
The steed along the drawbridge flies, 
Just as it trembled on the rise; 
Not lighter does the swallow skim 
Along the smooth lake's level brim. 
And when Lord Marmion reached his band, 
He halts, and turns with clenched hand, 
And shout of loud defiance pours, 
And shook his gauntlet at the towers. SCOTT 

€< My liege I did deny no prisoners, 

But I remember, when the fight was done, 

When I was dry with rage and extreme toil, 

Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, 

Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dress'd, 

Fresh as a bridegroom, and his chin new reap'd, 

Show'd like a stubble land at harvest home, 

He was perfumed like a milliner; 

And 'twixt his finger and his thumb, he held 

A pouncet-box, which ever and anon 

He gave his nose and took't away again; 

• ••••#• 



ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 37 

And still he smil'd, and talked; 
And as the soldiers bare dead bodies by, 
He call'd them <c untaught knaves, unmannerly, 
To bring a slovenly, unhandsome corse 
Betwixt the wind and his nobility." 
With many holiday and lady terms 
He question'd me; among the rest demanded 
My prisoners, in your majesty's behalf. 
I then, all smarting with my wounds, being galled 
To be so pester'd with a popinjay, 
Out of my grief and my impatience, 
Answered neglectingly I know not what; 
He should, or he should not : for he made me mad 
To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet, 
And talk so like a waiting gentle-woman, 
Of guns, and drums, and wounds; Heaven save the mark! 
And telling me " the sovereign'st thing on earth 
Was parmaceti, for an inward bruise; 
And that it was great pity, so it was, 
That villanous salt petre should be digg'd 
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth, 
Which many a good tall fellow had destroyed 
So cowardly : and but for these vile guns, 
He would himself have been a soldier. 
This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord, 
I answered indirectly, as I said; 
And I beseech you, let not this report 
Come current for an accusation, 
Betwixt my love and your high Majesty." 

Henry 4th. 



« O then I see queen Mab has been with you, 

She is the fairies' midwife; and she comes 

In shape no bigger than an agate stone 

On the forefinger of an alderman, 

Drawn with a team of little atomies 

Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep ; 

Her wagon spokes made of long spinners' legs; 

The cover of the wings of grasshoppers; 

The traces of the smallest spider's web; 

The collars of the moonshine's watery beams; 

Her whip of cricket's bone; the lash of film; 

Her wagoner a small grey -coated gnat, 

Not half so big as a round little worm, 

Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid. 

Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut, 

Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub, 

Time out of mind the fairies' coach makers, 

And in this state, she gallops, night by night, 

Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love: 



38 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

O'er courtier's knees that dream on court's! es straight : 

O'er lawyer's fingers, who straight dream on fees ; 

O'er ladies lips, who straight on kisses dream ; 

Sometimes she gallops o'er a lawyer's nose, 

And then dreams he of smelling out a suit; 

And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig's tail, 

Tickling the parson as he lies asleep; 

Then dreams he of another benefice. 

Sometimes she driveth o'er a soldier's neck, 

And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, 

Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades, 

Of healths five fathom deep; and then anon 

Drums in his ears, at which he starts and wakes; 

And being thus affrighted, swears a prayer or two, 

And sleeps again. Romeo and Juliet* 

" All the world's a stage, 
And all the men and women merely players :• 
They have their exits and their entrances; 
And one man in his time plays many parts, 
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, 
Muling and puking in the nurse's arms; 
And then the whining school-boy with his satchel, 
And shining morning face, creeping like snail 
Unwillingly to school: And then, the lover; 
Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad 
Made to his mistress' eyebrow: Then the soldier, 
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, 
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, 
-Seeking the bubble reputation — 
Even in the cannon's mouth : And then, the justice, 
In fair round belly, with good capon lined, 
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut, 
Full of wise saws, and modern instances, 
And so he plays his part: The sixth age shifts 
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon; 
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side, 
His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide 
For his shrunk shanks; and his big manly voice, 
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes 
And whistles in the sound : Last scene of all, 

• The above brings an occurrence to the author's memory 
which may not be unacceptable to his readers. Ben Jonson, 
Shakspeare's contemporary, upon a convivial occasion, put the 
following question in order to pose him : 

"If but stage actors all the world display, 
Where shall we find spectators for our play?" 
To which the immortal bard unhesitatingly replied^ 
« Little or much of what we see we do, 
We are both actors and spectators too." 



Essay on elocution. 39 

That ends this strange eventful history, 

Is second childishness, and mere oblivion: 

Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing." 

AS YOU LIKE IT. 

LOCHIEL'S WARNING, 

WIZARD. 

Lochiel ! Lochiel, beware of the day 
When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array! 
For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight, 
And the clans of Culloden are scattered in fight: 
They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and crown; 
Woe, woe to the riders that trample them down. 
Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain, 
And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain* 
But hark ! through the fast-flashing lightning of war, 
What steed to the desert flies frantic and far? 
3 Tis thine, oh Glenullin ! whose bride shall await, 
Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the gate. 
A steed comes at morning : no rider is there ; 
But its bridle is red with the sign of despair. 
Weep, Albin!* to death and captivity led! 
Oh weep! but thy tears cannot number the dead: 
For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave, 
Culloden ! that reeks with the blood of the brave. 



Go, preach to the coward, thou death-telling seer! 
Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear, 
Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight ! 
This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright. 



Ha! laugh'stthou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn? 
Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn! 
Say, rushed the bold eagle exultingly forth, 
From his home in the dark rolling clouds of the north! 
Lo! the death-shot of foemen outspeeding he rode 
Companionless, bearing destruction abroad ; 
But down let him stoop from his havoc on high! 
Ah! home let him speed — for the spoiler is nigh. 
Why flames the far summit? Why shoot to the blast 
Those embers, like stars from the firmanent cast? 
>Tis the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven 

• The Gaelic appellation of Scotland, more particularly the High* 



40 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

From his eyrie, that beacons the darkness of heaven. 
Oh, crested Lochiel! the peerless in might, 
Whose banners arise on the battlements' height, 
Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn; 
Return to thy dwelling I all lonely return I 
For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood, 
And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing brood. 



False Wizard, avaunt! I have marshalled my clan: 
Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms are one! 
They are true to the last of their blood and their breathy 
And like reapers descend to the harvest of death. 
Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock ! 
Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the rock! 
But woe to his kindred, and woe to his cause, 
When Albin her claymore indignantly draws; 
When her bonnetted chieftains to victory crowd, 
Clanronald the dauntless, and Moray the proud; 
All plaided and plumed in their tartan array 

WIZARD* 

Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day! 

Though, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal* 

Yet man cannot cover what God would reveal: 

5 Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, 

And coming events cast their shadows before. 

I tell thee Culloden's dread echoes shall ring 

With the bloodhounds, that bark for thy fugitive king 1 . 

Lo! annointedby heaven with the vials of wrath, 

Behold, where he flies on his desolate path! 

Now, in darkness and billows, he sweeps from my sight; 

Rise! rise! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight! 

5 Tis finished. Their thunders are hushed (<n the moora$ 

Culloden is lost, and my country deplores; 

But where is the iron-bound prisoner? Where? 

For the red eye of battle is shut in despair. 

Say, mounts he the ocean-wave, banished, forlorn, 

Like a limb from his country cast bleeding and torn? 

Ah no! for a darker departure is near; 

The war-drum is muffled, and black is the bier; 

His death-bell is tolling; oh ! mercy dispel, 

Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell! 

Life flutters convulsed in his quivering limbs, 

And his blood-streaming nostril in agony swims. 

Accursed be the faggots, that blaze at his feet, 

Where his heart shall be thrown, ere it ceases to beat, 

With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale— 



ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 41 

LOCHIEL. 

—Down, soothless insulter! I trust not the tale; 

For never shall Albin a destiny meet 

So black with dishonor — so foul in retreat. 

Though my perishing 1 ranks should be strewed in their gore* 

Like ocean-weeds heaped on the surf-beaten shore, 

Lochiel, unattainted by flight or by chains, 

While the kindling of life in his bosom remains, 

Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low, 

With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe! 

And leaving in battle no blot on his name, 

Look proudly to heaven from the death bed of fame. 

Campbell. 



XIX. METAPHOR. 

Metaphor is that figure which changes one thing in- 
to another, or a real subject into a figurative, and ideal 
one. If judiciously used it imparts beauty and often 
sublimity. The rule for reading or speaking meta- 
phorical passages, is to give them in the spirit of the 
subjects whence the passages are taken, and to read the 
metaphor in a more subdued tone than the subject 

Examples. 
w Here stands the oak, the monarch of the wood." — Home. 

u He is a rock opposed to the rude sea that beats against it J 9 

G. COLMAN THE YOUNGEB. 

« He arose a colossal pillar to perp etuate to future ages .*» 

DWYER. 



XX. COMPARISON. 

Metaphor and comparison being often confounded 
with each other, it is proper that the distinction should 
be pointed out. Metaphor, as has been said, absolute- 
ly changes one thing into another ; as, for instance, 
speaking of a courageous man, we say he is a lion ; 
when, by comparison, it would be, he is like a lion. 



®£ ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

Examples. 

ci Saul and Jonathan were lovely and pleasant in their lives, 
and in their death they were not divided: they were swifter than 
eagles, they were stronger than lions." 2 Samuel, i. 23. 

* As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, 
Swells from the vale and midway leaves the storm. 
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, 
Eternal sunshine settles on its head." 

Goldsmith. 

'* She came in all her beauty, like the moon from the cloud in 
the east. Loveliness was around her, as light. Her steps were like 
the music of songs." Ossian. 

XXI. PERSONIFICATION OR PROSOPOPCEIA. 

Personification is that figure by which we attribute 
life and motion to inanimate objects. It aspires to the 
utmost heights of poetry, and furnishes one of the best 
tests by which an author's merits may be fairly judged ; 
for nothing but genius will supply this sublimely po- 
etic essential. Personification should be read or spo- 
ken in consonance with your subject in which mono- 
tone frequently occurs as in all passages which approach 
the sublime. 

Examples. 

M Thou shalt take up this proverb against the king of Babylon, 
and say, how hath the oppressor ceased! the golden city ceased! 
The Lord hath broken the staff of the wicked, and the sceptre of 
the rulers. He who smote the people in wrath with a continual 
stroke, he that ruled the nations in anger, is persecuted, and none 
hindereth. The whole earth is at rest and is quiet; they break 
forth into singing. Yea, the fir-trees rejoice at thee, and the ce- 
dars of Lebanon, saying, since thou art laid down, no feller is 
come up against us. Hell from beneath is moved for thee to meet 
thee at thy coming: it stirreth up the dead for thee, even all the 
chief ones of the earth; it hath raised up from their thrones all 
the kings of the nations. All they shall speak and say unto thee, 
art thou also become weakaswe?art thou become like unto us? Thy 
pomp is brought down to the grave, and the noise of thy viols; 
the worm is spread under thee and the worms cover thee. How 
art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning! 
bow art thou cut down to the ground which didst weaken the na- 
tions' For thou hast said in thine heart, I will ascend into hea- 



ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 43 

yen, I will exalt my throne above the stars of God; I will sit al- 
so upon the mount of the congregation, in the sides of the north : 
I will ascend above the heights of the clouds; I will be like the 
Most High. Yet thou shalt be brought down to hell y to the sides 
of the pit. They that see thee shall narrowly look upon thee, and 
consider thee, saying is this the- man that made the earth to trem- 
ble, that did shake kingdoms; that made the work! as a wilderness, 
and destroyed the cities thereof; that opened not the house of his 
prisoners? all the kings of the nations, even all of thera, lie in 
glory, every one in his own house. But thou art cast out of thy 
grave like an abominable branch, and as the raiment of those that 
are slain thrust through with a sword that go down to the stones 
of the pit, as a carcass trodden under feet. 5 ' 

Isaiah, 14th Chap. 

* He stood, and measured the earth : he beheld, and drove 
asunder the nations; and the everlasting mountains were scatter- 
ed, the perpetual hills did bow; his ways are everlasting. The 
mountains saw thee, and they trembled; the overflowing of the 
water passed by; the deep uttered his voice, and lifted up his 
hands on high." Habakkuk, iii. 6th & 10th. 

These are thy glorious works, Parent of good, 

Amighty, thine this universal frame, 

Thus wondrous fair; thyself how wondrous then! 

Unspeakable, who sitt'st above these heav'ns 

To us invisible, or dimly seen 

In these thy lowest works; yet these 

Declare thy goodness, beyond thought, and pow'r divine. 

Speak ye who best can tell, ye sons of light, 

Angels ; for ye behold him, and with songs 

And choral symphonies, day without night, 

Circle his throne rejoicing; ye in heav'n, 

On earth, join all ye creatures, to extol 

Him first, him last, him midst, and without end. 

Fairest of stars, last in the train of night, 

If better thou belong not to the dawn 

Sure pledge of day that crown'st the smiling morn 

With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere, 

While day arises, that sweet hour of prime. 

Thou sun, of this great world both eye and soul, 

Acknowledge him thy greater, sound his praise 

In thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st, 

And when high noon hast gain'd, and when thou fall'st. 

Moon, that now meet'st the orient sun, now fly'st 

With the fix'd stars, fix'd in their orb that flies j 

And ye five other wand'ring fires that move 

In mystic dance not without song, resound 

His praise, who out of darkness call'd up light. 

Air, and ye elements, the eldest birth 



44 ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 

Of Nature's womb, that in quaternion run 
Perpetual circle, multiform ; and mix 
And nourish all things; let your ceaseless change 
Vary to our great Maker still new praise. 
Ye mists and exhalations that now rise 
From hill or steaming lake, dusky or gray, 
Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold, 
In honour to the world's great Author rise, 
Whether to deck with clouds th' uneolour'd sky, 
Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers, 
Rising or falling still advance his praise. 
His praise, ye winds, that from four quarters blow, 
Breathe soft or loud; and wave your tops, ye pines, 
With every plant, in sign of worship wave. 
Fountains, and ye that warble, as ye flow, 
Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his praise. 
Join voices all ye living souls : Ye birds, 
That singing up to heaven-gate ascend, 
Bear on your wings and in your notes his praise. 
Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk 
The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep 
Witness if I be silent, morn or even, 
To hill or valley, fountain, or fresh shade, 
Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise- 
Hail universal Lord, be bounteous still 
To give us only good; and if the night 
Have gather'd aught of evil, or conceal'd, 
Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark. 

Milton. 

XXII. APOSTROPHE. 

Apostrophe is a figure so like personification, that 
very few shades of difference are discernible. This 
figure abounds with sublimity and feeling. All great 
and beautiful objects of nature may be apostrophized. 
The sun, a mountain, the ocean, a fountain, a grove — 
we may apostrophize those absent or one dead, as though 
they or he were present and listening to us. The rules 
already offered, bear upon this, and all oratorical orna- 
ments, and only require the good sense or taste of the 
reader to apply them. 

Examples. 

O thou that, with surpassing glory crown'd, 
Look'st from thy sole dominion like the God 



ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 45 

Of this new world; at whose sight all the stars 
Hide their diminished heads; to thee I call, 
But with no friendly voice, and add thy name, 

Sun, to tell thee how f hate thy beams, 
That bring to my remembrance from what state 

1 fell, how glorious once above thy sphere; 
Till pride and worse ambition threw me down, 
Warring in heav'n against heav'n's matchless King. 

Milton. 

<c Athos, thou proud and aspiring mountain, that liftest thy head 
unto the heavens, be not so audacious as to put obstacles in my way, 
if thou doest, I will cut thee level with the plain, and hurl thee 
headlong into the sea." 

Absurd boast of Xerxes. 



"And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joy 
Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be 
Borne, like thy bubbles onward : from a boy 
I wantoned with thy breakers — they, to me, 
Were a delight; and if the freshening sea 
Made them a terror — 'twas a pleasing fear. 
For I was, as it were, a child of thee, 
And trusted to thy billows far and near, 
And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do here. 

Lord Byron. 

"Silenee, ye troubled waves; and thou deep, peace, 
Said then th' omnific word ; your discord end." 

Milton's Paradise Lost. 

With what spirit, and how much to the admiration of the phy- 
sicians, did he bear throughout eight months his lingering in dis- 
tress! With what tender attention did he study, even in the last 
extremity, to comfort me! And when no longer himself, how 
affecting was it to behold the disordered efforts of his wandering 
mind, wholly employed on subjects of literature! Ah! my frus- 
trated and fallen hopes! Have I then beheld your closing eyes, 
and heard the last groan issue from your lips? After having em- 
braced your cold and breathless body, how was it in my power to 
draw the vital air, or continue to drag a miserable life? When I 
had just beheld you raised by consular adoption to the prospect of 
all your father's honors, destined to be son-in-law to your uncle, 
the Praetor, pointed out by general expectation as the successful 
candidate for the prize of attic eloquence, in this moment of your 
opening honors must I lose you forever, and remain an unhappy 
parent, surviving only to suffer woe? 

QUINTILIAN. 



46 ESSAY Oft ELOCUTION. 

Ce With you, Agricola, we may now congratulate : you are bless- 
ed, not only because your life was a career of glory, but because 
you were released, when it was happiness to die. From those 
who attended your last moments, it is well known that you met 
your fate with calm serenity; willing, as far as it depended on the 
last act of your life, that the prince should appear to be innocent. 
To your daughter and myself you left a load of affliction. We 
have lost a parent, and, in our distress, it is now an addition to 
our heartfelt sorrows, that we had it not in our power to watch 
the bed of sickness, to sooth the langour of declining nature, to 
gaze upon you with earnest affection, to see the expiring glance, 
and receive your last embrace. Your dying words would have 
been ever dear to us ; your commands we should have treasured 
up, and graved them on our hearts. This sad comfort we have 
lost, and the wound, for that reason, pierces deeper. Divided 
from you by a long absence, we had lost you four years before. 
Every tender office, we are well convinced, thou best of parents ! 
was duly performed by a most affectionate wife ; but fewer tears be- 
dewed your cold remains; and, in the parting moment, your eyes 
looked up for other objects, but they looked in vain, and closed 
forever. 

"If in another world there be a pious mansion for the blessed; if, 
as the wisest men have thought, the soul be not extinguished with 
the body; may you enjoy a state of eternal felicity! From that 
station behold your disconsolate family ; exalt our minds from fond 
regret and unavailing grief, to the contemplation of your virtues. 
Those we must not lament; it were impiety to sully them with a 
tear. To cherish their memory, to embalm them with our praises, 
and, if our frail condition will permit, to emulate your bright 
example, will be the truest mark of our respect, the best tribute 
your family can offer. Your wife will thus preserve the memory 
of the best of husbands, and thus your daughter will prove her 
filial piety. By dwelling constantly on your words and actions, 
they will have an illustrious character before their eyes, and, not 
content with the bare image of your mortal frame, they will have 
what is more valuable, the form and features of your mind. I do 
not mean by this to censure the custom of preserving in brass or 
marble the shape and stature of eminent men; but busts and sta- 
tues, like their originals, are frail and perishable. The soul is 
formed of finer elements, and its inward form is not to be express- 
ed by the hand of an artist with unconscious matter; our man- 
ners and our morals may in some degree trace the resemblance. 
All of Agricola, that gained our love, and raised our admiration, 
still subsists, and will ever subsist, preserved in the minds of men, 
the register of ages, and the records of fame. Others who fig- 
ured on the stage of life, and were the worthies of a former day 
will sink for want of a faithful historian, into the common lot of 
oblivion, inglorious and unremembered; whereas Agricola deli- 
neated with truth, and fairly consigned to posterity, will surviy* 
himself, and triumph over the injuries of time." Tacitus, 



ESSAY ON ELOCUTION. 47 

XXIII. VISION. 

This figure represents objects which have passed, or 
by anticipation maypass,or as absolutely passing before 
our eyes. It should never be resorted to but when the 
author's vivid imagination inspires and carries him be- 
yond himself; then his readers, by catching the cor- 
ruscation from, and sympathizing with, will feel rapt 
and imbued with his illusion. Vision admits of as great 
a variety of delivery as the subjects which may be read 
or recited. The best method of giving such passages, 
is to thoroughly understand, feel, and enter into the 
spirit of them ; so understanding and feeling, the reader 
cannot fail to produce the desired effect. 

Examples. 

The first speech of the Wizard in Lochiel's Warning 1 ; the Last 
Man; also, Time, by Seleck Osborne. 

XXIV. ACTION. 

Upon this subject, which at first sight may here ap- 
pear irrelative, although in reality it is very material, 
the writer differs from those who have gone before him, 
and by whom systems have been laid down for the 
movement of every feature of the human face, and limb 
of the human form. Those systems are fallacious ; for 
while the mind of the Tyro is busied in the considera- 
tion of how, or when, he shall point the toe, extend the 
arm, or knit the brow, the main spring, that very mind 
which should give all — life, motion and effect, is em- 
ployed in a worse than secondary, while the primary 
cause is totally neglected. After a young man of edu- 
cation has been well instructed in those exercises which 
form a part of the external accomplishments of a gen- 
tleman, fencing and dancing, for instance, but par- 
ticularly the former, to acquire a just expression, action 
and deportment, it will be necessary that he should 
leave both face and figure untrammeled, and thorough- 
ly understand and feel his author ; then the proper ex* 
pression of face, and truth of deportment in action, will 



48 ESSAV ON ELOCUTION. 

necessarily, spring out of the subject. By this proce- 
dure he is sure to be right, for nature is never wrong. 
Then the monotonous habit of sawing the air, and in- 
deed all other bad habits in action, will be avoided. If 
we look into real life, we shall find gesture rather un- 
frequent than redundant. 

A history of language from its barbarous origin to its 
present perfection, and the various laborious efforts by 
which it has advanced, is not the object of this Essay; 
but, now that the materials are abundantly supplied, the 
author trusts that he has shown how those materials 
rnay be used for the advantage of our youth, in the dis- 
play of one of the most noble structures that the genius 
of man can produce, or the perception of man can en- 
joy. The component parts of Eloquence are, sound 
judgment, well arranged method, a vivid imagination, 
retention of memory, a progressively rising elocution, 
and an excellent and varied diction, uniting the perfec- 
tion of language with the sublimity of thought. 

The author will close this essay by observing, that 
the student may, with a perfect knowledge of, and a 
strict adherence to, the rules here laid down, acquire all 
the theory of elocution necessary for correct reading 
and speaking, all that is aimed at in this publication, 
but, although the theory be indispensably requisite to 
aid in the formation of an accomplished speaker, yet 
without practice, and that practice under a judicious 
master, whose taste is refined, and whose pronunciation 
is unvitiated by any provincial dialect, he can never at- 
tain this very desirable accomplishment. 



END OF THE ESSAY, 



REMARKS 

ON 

READING PROSE, VERSE, AND BLANK VERSE- 



The art of reading, so very essential in all ranks of 
society, and in all pursuits of life, is so imperfectly un- 
derstood, that not one out of ten thousand, even of 
those who are called educated, can properly be termed 
a good reader. When most persons take up a book, 
they imagine that nature and her inflections are to be 
lost sight of, and they proceed in a canting sing-song 
monotonous tone from the beginning to the end. This 
is owing to those persons not considering that reading 
and speaking are precisely the same thing, save that in 
reciting we have a greater intimacy with the subject, 
and are enabled to give a little more energy and ac- 
tion. The tones, emphasis, accent, and sense, are the 
same, whether we speak or read, for what is speaking 
but giving utterance to our own thoughts, and what is 
reading but giving utterance to the thoughts of others 
placed before our eyes ? Do we not sometimes write 
our own thoughts for the purpose of reading them in 
public? Where then can be the difference between 
reading and speaking, except that when uttering our 
own thoughts, we are possessed of our own mean- 
ing, but when reading the thoughts of others, we 
have to seek for their sense, which is not always ob- 
servable at first sight. It will be necessary, for &ose 
who wish to read correctly, either to a public assembly. 



ti) REMARKS ON 

or to friends in private, previously to look over the sub- 
ject, so as to render themselves perfectly masters of it, or 
embarrassment, hesitation, and very often an entire fail- 
ure of effect, will be the consequence. 

The writer would not be understood to mean, by 
reading as we speak, that reading should, therefore, be 
like flippant and common-place conversation, as might 
erroneously be supposed ; but that reading should be 
consonant with the subject which we utter. If the Su- 
preme Being be addressed in an extemporary prayer, 
nature and good feeling will dictate a meek, solemn, 
and reverential tone and manner ; so should the same 
subject, without the least deviation, be read. The 
meaning here wished to be inculcated is, that we should 
speak correctly and read as we speak. To prove that 
reading and speaking sound alike, let a competent judge 
place himself in an antechamber where he may hear, 
but not see, a person reading, and he cannot be able to 
determine whether he is reading or reciting, provided 
the reader be a good one. 

Independently of the pleasure afforded to the audi- 
tors by a perfect reader, he participates in that pleasure 
by being enabled, from his just conceptions, to develop 
the frequently profound or sublime meaning of his au- 
thor, and at the same time dress it in all the fascination 
of eloquence. Who can hear " Paradise Lost" proper- 
ly read, and not be a convert to this opinion ? One of 
the chief errors in young readers or speakers proceeds 
from a precipitancy of utterance, which is subversive 
of all good elocution ; to avoid that fault, the beginner 
should be taught to read the observations on quantity, 
and follow them. Giving proper quantity will correct 
too quick utterance. 

ON READING RHYMING VERSE. 

Distinctness of utterance, and clearness of articula- 
tion, so indispensable in all kinds of oratorical exercises, 
must, in an especial manner, be attended to in reading 
verse, else that song so disgusting to good taste, and a 
perfect ear, will be the result. The material difference 



READING PROSE AND VEKSE. 61 

between reading prose and rhyming verse, rests in giv- 
ing more time between each word and sentence in verse 
than in prose ; reading with very little reference to the 
jingle, or rhyme, but with great attention to the sense ; 
using the same inflections as in prose, and rather avoid- 
ing than encouraging that measured tone, improperly 
called musical ; for if the harmony of that author's verse 
to whose sense we do justice, do not distinctly speak for 
itself, his claims to poetry must rest on a very slight 
foundation indeed. 



ON READING BLANK VERSE. 

The correct delivery of blank verse, as well as of 
prose or rhyming verse, principally depends upon the 
reader's having a perfect knowledge of the subject 
which he is uttering. 

The mode of reading blank verse, differs only in giv- 
ing more quantity and solemnity of tone, than in prose 
or rhyming verse. 

What is meant by quantity, is taking nearly double 
the time in utterance, and with much more proximity 
to the sublime in blank verse, than in prose or rhyming 
verse, and continually bearing in mind the slight sus- 
pensive pause, that is, keeping up the voice, until the 
period or full sense be arrived at. 

Perhaps it may here be necessary to say more up- 
on a subject, to the judicious use of which, all perfect, 
forcible, and elegant reading, and speaking owe so 
much. 

In giving proper quantity, not only the accented and 
unaccented vowels must have their full, round, due pro- 
portion of sound, but the consonants also, and every 
word, syllable, and letter, should have its proper articu- 
late sound accorded to it. 

The sublime passages of scripture ought to be read 
agreeably to the above directions. 

The following example will sufficiently elucidate the 
propriety of keeping up the voice until the sense be com- 
plete^ and the period arrived at. 



S2 READING BLANK VERSE. 

" These are thy glorious works, Parent of good, 

Almighty, thine this universal frame, 

Thus wond'rous fair; thyself how wond'rous then! 

Unspeakable, who sitt'st above these heav'ns 

To us invisible, or dimly seen 

In these thy lowest works; yet these declare 

Thy goodness, beyond thought, and pow'r divine. 

Milton's Morning Hymn. 



SUGGESTIONS 

TO 

INSTRUCTERS OF THE ART OF ELOCUTION 



Those who wish to receive and impart the advanta- 
ges derivable from the author's essay, the system by 
which he gives instruction, will please strictly to adhere 
to the following directions. Let the preceptor divide 
his classes in ten for each class, and meeting the ten, 
take up the first rule , or head, reading aloud the first 
sentence himself, and causing the first member of ths 
class to repeat the same, and so on, until master and 
pupil have read the whole rule; so let him proceed with 
the rest of the class until the rule be gone through by 
all. Then let him take up the second head, following! 
the above plan. 

There are great advantages to be obtained by thi* 
method, which originated with the author. The first 
is, the pupil, without the drudgery of committing to. 
memory, may become perfectly master of the two rules 
and their illustrations, before he leaves the class room. 
The second is, that by causing each member to read 
the same rule, twenty lessons are obtained in one meet- 
ing of the classes, for B. hears the errors of A. correct- 
ed ; C. those of A. and B.> and so on, until all derive 
the full advantage of the plan. 

The master should, from the commencement, impress 
upon his pupils the indispensable necessity of using 
quantity. It not only imparts fullness to pronunciation,, 
but also corrects one of the worst errors in readers or 



5* 



54k SUGGESTIONS, &C. 

speakers, which is precipitancy of utterance. The scrip- 
tures ought frequently to be resorted to not only for the 
purpose of laying a solid foundation for the well doing 
of the pupil, but as affording some of the most admira- 
ble and sublime passages within the s** ope of humaa 
observation. 



SELECT SENTENCES. 



The whole universe is your library ; conversation 
living studies ; and remarks upon them are your best 
tutors. 

Learning is the temperance of youth, the comfort 
of old age* and the only sure guide to honor and prefer- 
ment. 

Quintilian recommends to all parents the timely edu- 
cation of their children, advising to train them up in 
learning, good manners, and virtuous exercises, since 
we commonly retain those things in age, which we en- 
tertained in our youth. 

The great business of a man is to improve his mind 
and govern his manners. 

Aristotle says, that to become an able man in any pro- 
fession whatever, three things are necessary, which are, 
nature, study and practice. 

To endure present evils with patience, and wait for 
expected good with long suffering, is equally the part 
of the christian and the hero. 

Rise from table with an appetite, and you will not be 
like to sit down without one. 

He that covereth a transgression, procureth love ; but 
he that repeateth a matter, separateth very friends. 

It is virtue that makes the mind invincible, and places 
us out of the reach of fortune, though not out of th$ 
malice of it. When Zeno was told that all his goods 
were destroyed, why then, said he, fortune hath a mind to 
make me a philosopher : nothing can be above him that is 
above fortune ; no infelicity can make a wise man quit 
his ground. 



56 SELECT SENTENCES. 

Adversity, overcome, is the highest glory; and wil- 
lingly undergone, the greatest virtue ; sufferings are but 
the trials of gallant spirits. 

If you will have a constant vigorous health, a per- 
petual spring of youth, use temperance. 

It is the glory of a man that hath abundance, to live 
as reason, not as appetite directs. 

It is a Spanish maxim — he who loses wealth, loseth 
much ; he who loseth a friend, loseth more ; but he that 
loseth his spirits, loseth all. 

The discretion of a man deferreth his anger, and it 
is his glory to pass by a transgression. 

Of all passions there is none so extravagant and oinV 
rageous as that of anger ; other passions solicit and mis- 
lead us, but this runs away with us by force, huries 
us, as well to our own, as to another's ruin : it falls 
many times upon the wrong person, and discharges it- 
self upon the innocent instead o-f the guilty. It spares 
neither friend nor foe, but tears all to pieces, and casts 
human nature into a perpetual state of warfare. 

Anger may glance inco the breast of a wise man, but 
rests only in the bosom of fools. 

Pride is an abomination in the sight of God, and the 
judgment is just upon us, when the subject of our vani- 
ty becomes the occasion of our ruin. 

There is no passion so universal, or steals into the 
heart more imperceptibly, and covers itself under more 
disguises, than pride; and yet at the same time, there 
is not any single view of human nature, under its pre- 
sent condition, which is not sufficient to extinguish in us 
all the secret seeds of pride, and, on the contrary, to 
sink the soul into the lowest state of humility. 

A wise man will desire no more than what he may 
get justly, use soberly, distribute cheerfully, and live 
contentedly with. 

Nature bids me love myself, and hate all that hurt 
me ; reason bids me love my friend, and hate those that 
envy me : religion bids me love all, and hate none, and 
overcome evil with good. 

There is no man so contemptible, but who in distress, 



SELECT SENTENCES. 57 

requires pity. It is inhuman to be altogether insensible 
of another's misery. 

Env} r is fixed only on merit ; and like a sore eye, is 
offended with every thing that is bright. 

If we knew how little others enjoy, it would rescue 
the world from one sin — there would be no such thing 
as envy upon earth. 

Never employ yourself to discern the faults of others, 
but be careful to mend and prevent your own. 

There is an odious spirit in many persons, who are 
better pleased to detect a fault, than commend a virtue. 

The worthiest people are most injured by slanderers; 
as we usually find that to be the best fruit which the 
birds have been pecking at. 

A wise man, said Seneca, is provided for occurrences 
of any kind ; the good he manages, the bad he van- 
quishes ; in prosperity he betrays no presumption, in ad- 
versity he feels no despondency. 

A man cannot be truly happy here, without a well 
grounded hope of being happy hereafter. 

If some are refined, like gold, in the furnace of afflic- 
tion, there are many more that, like chaff, are consumed 
in it. Sorrow, when it is excessive, takes away fervor 
from piety, vigor from action, health from the body, light 
from reason, and repose from the conscience. 

The expectation of future happiness is the best relief 
of anxious thoughts, the most perfect cure of melan- 
choly, the guide of life,, and the comfort of death. 

Fear unruly passions more than the arrows of an ene- 
my, and the slavery of them more than the fetters of 
a conqueror. 

If you be naturally disposed to anger, . frequent the 
company of the patient ; by this means, without any la- 
bour, you will attain a fit temper ; for conversation is of 
great moment ; manners, humours, nay opinions, are 
thereby insensibly communicated. 

It is more prudent to pass by trivial offences, than to 
quarrel for them ; by the last you are even with your 
adversary, but by the first above him. 



58 SELECT SENTENCES. 

Passion is a sort of fever in the mind, which always 
leaves us weaker than it found us. 

Conquer your passions : it will be more glorious for 
you to triumph over your own heart, than it would be 
to take a citadel. 

Defile not your mouth with swearing; neither use 
yourself to the naming of the Holy One. 

He is wealthy enough that wanteth not — he is great 
enough that is his own master — he is happy enough 
that lives, to die well. Other things I will not care for, 
says Judge Hale, nor too much for these, save only for 
the last, which alone can admit of no immoderation. 

Restrain yourself from being too fiery and flaming in 
matters of argument. Truth often suffers more from 
the heat of its defenders, than from the argument of 
its opposers. And nothing does reason more right, than 
the coolness of those that offer it. 

True quietness of heart is got by resisting our pas- 
sions, not by obeying them. 

The love of God and of the world are two different 
things ; if the love of this world dwell in you, the love 
of God forsakes you ; renounce that, and receive this , 
it is fit the more noble love should have the best place 
and acceptance. 

The holy spirit is an antidote against seven poisons : 
it is wisdom against folly ; quickness of apprehension 
against dullness ; faithfulness of memory against for- 
getfulness; fortitude against fear; knowledge against 
ignorance ; piety against profaneness ; and humility 
against pride. 

Good breeding is the result of much good sense, some 
good nature and a little self-denial for the sake of 
others, with a view to obtain the same indulgence from 
them. 

To be now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and pre- 
sently a beast ! Every inordinate cup is unblest, and 
the ingredient is — a devil. Oh ! that men should put 
an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains ! 



OBSERVATIONS 

ON THE 

CAUSES OF BAD READING AND SPEAKING. 



Too slightly sounding the accented Vowels. 

One of the general faults in reading or speaking, is 
a short, slight, mincing pronunciation of the accented 
vowels, instead of that bold, round, mellow tone which 
forms the basis of good reading and speaking. The 
vowels which should especially be attended to are 
a and o ; e is the most slender of all the vowels, and 
i and u are dipthongs which terminato in slender sounds, 
and do not afford a sufficient quantity to fill the ear, but 
a in all its sounds in bare, bar, war, father and water, 
has a bold, full sound, which the ear dwells upon with 
pleasure. The sound of o likewise, when lengthened 
by e final, as in tone, or ending a syllable, as in noble, 
may be prolonged with great satisfaction to the ear. It 
is to a judicious elongation of the sound of these vow- 
els that pronunciation owes one of its greatest beau- 
ties. 

Too slightly sounding the unaccented Vowels. 

There is an incorrect pronunciation of the letter u 
when it ends a syllable not under the accent, which not 
only prevails amongst the vulgar, but is sometimes found 
in better society, and that is, giving it a sound which 
confounds it with vowels of a very different nature, 
Thus we hear singular, regular, and particular, pro- 



60 ON BAD HEADING 

nounced as if written, sing-e-lar, reg-e-lar, and partick- 
e-lar. Nothing tends to vulgarize pronunciation more 
than this short sound of the unaccented u. Those who 
wish to pronounce with elegance, must be particularly 
attentive to the unaccented vowels, as their correct pro- 
nunciation forms one of the great beauties of reading 
or speaking. 

The other vowels when unaccented, are liable to 
nearly the same indistinctness as the u. The first e in 
event, the first o in opinion, and the i in insensible, terri- 
ble, are apt to go into a sound approaching the short u, 
as if written uvent, upinion, sensubble, terruble, while 
proper pronunciation requires these vowels to be heard 
distinctly as when under the accent. 

The e in event, should be pronounced as the e in 
equal, the o in opinion, as that in open, the i in the un- 
accented termination, ible, ity, and at the end of other 
syllables not under the accent, ought to have the sound 
of e, and this sound to be preserved distinct and pure 
as if written sen-se-ble, ter-re-ble, de-ver-sety, u-ne-ver- 
sety. 

Wavering 'pronunciation of Vowels under the secon- 
dary accent. 

The secondary accent, is the laying a stress on an- 
other syllable independently of that which has the chief 
accent upon it, in order to enable us to pronounce every 
part of the word distinctly, forcibly, and harmoniously. 
This accent is on the first syllable of conversation, com- 
mendation, the principal accent being on the third syl- 
lable. 

The liquid sound of k, c or g hard before the Vowels 
a and i. 

There is a liquid sound of these consonants before 
the vowels a and i, which gives a smooth and eupho- 
nious sound to the words in wiiich they occur, and 
which distinguishes polite from vulgar pronunciation. 

This pronunciation is as if the a and i were preceded 
by e. Thus, kind is sounded as if written ke-ind, card 



AND SPEAKING, 61 

as ke-ard, and regard as regeard. The words which 
require this liquid sound in the k, c and g hard, are 
sky, kind, guide, gird, girt, girl, guise, guile ; card, cart, 
carp, carpenter, carpet, carve, carbuncle, carnal, car- 
tridge, guard andregard: these and their compounds are 
perhaps the only words where this sound occurs, but 
these words are in such continual use as to distinguish 
the correct from the incorrect speaker. 

Polite speakers pronounce educate as if written ed-u- 
cate, virtue as verchew, verdure as ver-dure, Indian a? 
Indean, odious as odeous, and insidious as insideous. 

The suppressing the sound of the final consonants, is 

a GREAT ERROR IN READING OR SPEAKING. 

The word and is frequently pronounced like the arti- 
cle an, both before a vowel and a consonant, as " Both 
men and money are wanting to carry on the war," we 
hear pronounced as if written, both men an money are 
wanting to carry on the war. It is even worse when fol- 
lowed by a vowel, particularly the vowel &, followed by?z. 
We often hear, " a subject is carried on by question and 
answer," as if written, a subject is carried on by ques- 
tion an answer, and, " he made his meal of an apple 
and an egg^ as if written, he made his meal of an ap- 
ple an an egg. The best method is to sound the d al- 
ways in and. The sound of f, when final, is liable to 
the same suppression when a consonant begins the suc- 
ceeding word, particularly the th. We frequently hear 
" the want of men is occasioned by the want of money," 
pronounced, the want o' men is occasioned by the want 
o' money, and " I spoke of the man who told me of the 
woman you mentioned," as if written, I spoke o' the 
man who told me o' the woman you mentioned. 

The sounding of the letter R. 

The letter R has two sounds, the rough or rolling, 
and the soft or smooth sound. 

The rough r is formed by jarring the tip of the tongue 
against the roof of the mouth, near to the fore teeth ; the 
smooth r is a vibration of the lower part of the tongue 

6 



62 ON BAD READING 

near the root, against the inward region of the palate, as 
close to each other as possible without coming in con- 
tact. 

The first r is proper at the beginning, and the second 
in the middle or at the end of words. The r in bar, 
bard, card, and regard, is pronounced so much in the 
throat as to be little more than the Italian a in father. 
We may give full force to this letter at the beginning 
of a word, without producing any harshness to the ear, 
thus Rome, river, rage, may have the full forcible sound 
of r, but bar, bard, card and regard, should be pronounced 
as above mentioned, soft as possible. 

Pronouncing S indistinctly after St. 

The letter S, after St, from the difficulty of its pro- 
nunciation, is often sounded indistinctly. This is to be 
avoided by letting the t be heard distinctly between the 
two hissing letters. For the acquisition of this sound, 
it will be proper to select nouns which end in st, or ste, 
form them into plurals and pronounce them forcibly and 
distinctly until the bad habit be thrown off. The sama 
may be observed of the third person of verbs, ending 
in sts or stes, as persists, wastes, pastes. 

Not sounding the H where it ought to be sounded, and the 

reverse. 

The Cocknies generally say art for heart, and harm 
for arm. This is a vice similar to pronouncing the V 
for the W, and the W for the V, and requires a like 
method of correction. See head Pronunciation of this 
essay. 

In the following words the H is silent : heir, heiress, 
herb, herbage, honest, honesty, honestly, honor, honor- 
able, honorably, hostler, hour, hourly, humble, humbly, 
humblest, humor, humorist, humorously, humorsome. 
The H should have its full sound in the word hospital. 

The author differs from one of our most distinguish- 
ed orthoepists as to the pronunciation of the words for, 
from, and by. These words should always have their 



AND SPEAKING. 63 

single and full sounds. Mr. Walker holds that we may 
say, u I delivered him frum the danger he was in." It 
should be, I delivered him from, as if pronounced fraum 
the danger he was in. He says, " I wrote to a friend 
fur his advice." It should be pronounced as if written 
faur his advice. He also asserts that we may say, " He 
died be his own hands, or he died by his own hands." 
This word should never be pronounced otherwise than 
as if written buy. 

Examples in proof. 

IC For since by man came death, by man came also the resurrect 
tion of the dead. 55 

How could we reconcile our ears to — 

ee For since be man came death, be man came also the resurrec- 
tion of the dead.'* 

Although the author frequently differs from Mr* 
Walker's pronunciation, yet he considers his dictionary 
as the best authority for the pronunciation of our lan- 
guage. 

The writer would be wanting in justice to the memo- 
ry of a great and good man, were he to remain silent in 
a book like this, upon the subject of his stupendous 
work. 

Noah Webster has bequeathed to his country and to 
posterity, a mighty and imperishable monument of his 
herculean labors, of his untiring industry, and of his 
extensive learning. 

Mr. Webster's Dictionary is unquestionably the best 
in the English language, but like that of Doctor Samuel 
Johnson, it is not an authority for pronunciation. 

Observations on the Pronunciation of certain words, fre* 
quently mistaken in Reading and Speaking. 

The particular termination ed, should never be pro- 
nounced as a distinct syllable, unless preceded by dox t, 
except in the language of scripture. One distinction 
seems to be admitted_ between some adjectives and 



64 ON BAD HEADING 

participles, which is pronouncing the ed in an ad- 
ditional syllable in the former, and sinking it in the lat- 
ter. Thus when learned, cursed, blessed, and winged, 
are adjectives, the ed is invariably pronounced as a dis- 
tinct syllable, but when participles, as learned, curs'd, 
bless'd, and wing'd, the ed does not form a distinct syl- 
lable. Poetry assumes the privilege of using- these ad- 
jectives either way, but correct prose rigidly exacts the 
pronunciation of ed in these words, when adjectives, as 
a distinct syllable. The ed in aged always forms a dis- 
tinct syllable, as " an aged man," but when this word 
is compounded with another, the ed does not form a 
distinct syllable, as " a full ag'd horse." 

When adjectives are changed into adverbs, by the ad- 
dition of the termination ly, we often find the participle 
ed preserved long and distinct ; even in those very words 
where it was contracted, when used adjectively. Thus 
though we always hear confess'd, profess'd, design'd, 
&c, &c, we as constantly hear confessedly, professedly, 
designedly. The same may be observed of the only words 
in the language, in which the ed is pronounced as a dis- 
tinct syllable in the adverb, where it is contracted in the. 
participial adjective. Forcedly, enforcedly, unveiledly, 
deformedly, feignedly, unfeignedly, designedly, resign- 
edly, restrainedly, refinedly, unconcernedly, undiscern- 
edly, preparedly, assuredly, advisedly, composedly, dis 
persedly, diffusedly, confusedly, unperceivedly, resolved- 
ly, deservedly, undeservedly, reservedly, unreservedly, 
avowedly, perplexedly, fixedly, amazedly, forkedly. 

When you is to be pronounced like ye, and my like me 

You and my, when they are contradistinguished from 
other pronouns, consequently emphatical, are always 
pronounced with their full open sound, you, my. When 
they are subordinate words in a sentence, and are nol 
emphatic, they are pronounced ye and mo. Example — 
" You told him all the truth," Here the word you is 
a nominative case, and consequently must be pronounced 
full, so as to rhyme with new. Again. " He told you 






AND SPEAKING. 65 

before he told ayiybody else." The word you is in the 
oblique case, or comes after the word denoting action, 
but as it is emphatical by being contradistinguished from 
any body else, it preserves its full open sound as before. 
But in this sentence, "though he told you he had no right 
to tell you," here the pronoun you is in the oblique case, 
or follows the word denoting action, and, having no dis- 
tinctive emphasis, invariably falls into the sound of ye, 
as if written, " though he told ye, he had no right to 
tell ye." 

The same observations hold good with respect to the 
pronoun my. If I were to say, " my pen is as bad as 
my paper," I should necessarily pronounce my like me, 
as pen and paper are the emphatic words, but if I were 
to say my pen is worse than yours, here my is in anti- 
thesis with yours, consequently must be pronounced full, 
so as to rhyme with high, nigh, &c. 

The word your, when emphatic, is always pronounced 
full and open, as ewer; for example, " the moment I had 
read your letter, I sat down to write mine," but when 
not emphatical, it sinks into yur, as the last syllable of 
lawyer. Example— 11 1 had just answered your first let- 
ter as your last arrived ;" on the contrary, if I were to 
say, I had just answered your first letter as your last 
arrived, with your sounded like ewer, every correct ear 
would be offended. Your must always be pronounced 
yur, when it is used to signify any particular species of 
persons or things. Example — " Your merchant, your 
tradesman, your mechanic, and your farmer, are valu- 
able citizens and useful members of society ; but your 
dandy is an animal of the nondescript genus, a mere 
excrescence upon the face of nature, and useless to all.' 7 

When of, for , from and by are to have a long, and ivhen 
a short sound. 

A distinction seems to have taken place in the pro- 
nunciation of the preposition of. The consonant of this 
word is almost invariably pronounced like the consonant 
V, and when the word does not come before some of the 

6* 



66 OIS BAD READING 

pronouns at the end of a sentence, or member of a sen- 
tence, we sometimes permit the vowel o to slide into the 
sound of the vowel u; and the word may be said to 
rhyme with love, dove, &c. &c. Thus in the couplet 
in the tragedy of the Fair Penitent, 

"Of all the various wretches love has made, 
How few we find by men of sense betray'd." 

The two ofs in this couplet we see, may, without de- 
parture from propriety, be pronounced as if written uv, 
rhyming with dove, &c. &c; but when it, him, her or 
them, or any other personal pronoun follows of, either 
in the middle or at the end of a sentence, it must be 
pronounced as when rhyming with the first syllable of 
nov-el, hov-eL 

How to 'pronounce the possessive pronoun — thy. 

If the language be elevated, the word thy, should 
have its full sound, rhyming, with high, as in Milton's 
Paradise Lost, Book 1st. 

"Say first, for heav'n hides nothing from thy view, 
Nor the deep tract of hell ." 

Here pronouncing the pronoun thy, like the word thee, 
would familiarize the language and destroy the digni- 
ty of the subject. On the contrary, if the subject be 
familiar and void of dignity, the personal pronoun 
should be pronounced like thee. Example — as if ad- 
dressing a friend : 

?' Give me thee hand.'' 

How to pronounce the adjective possessive pronoun — mine. 

This word may be called an adjective, possessive 
when used before a substantive, as it constantly is in 
Scripture when the substantive begins with a vowel, 
as, " Mine eyes have seen thy salvation," and a sub- 
stantive possessive, when it stands alone, as " This 
book is mine." In Scripture, the i in this word should 
have its long sound as in the substantive. In authors 
where dignity and sublimity do not occur, the full sound 



AND SPEAKING. 67 

would appear stiff and pedantic. Example — " Me 
thought close at mine ear one called me forth to walk." 
Here mine should be pronounced min. Again, in the 
Tragedy of Hamlet : 

i{ Sleeping 1 within mine orchard, 
My custom always in the afternoon, 
Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole, 
With juice of cursed hebenon in a phial, 
And in the porches of mine ears did pour the leprous distil 
ment." 

Here also the word mine, should be pronounced min. 
The pronunciation of the English language has under- 
gone great changes, and much for the better, since the 
days of Shakspeare and of Milton. Therefore, mod- 
ern language should substitute the word my, pronounc* 
ed me, instead of the mincing word, min. 

The indistinct sound of the word — not. 

This word ought never be pronounced in the slight 
and slovenly manner, as if we said nut, instead of not. 
Although the word not should never be emphasized, but 
when antithetical, yet it should always have the dis- 
tinct sound of not — as, " I am not well." 

The contraction of negative phrases, " can't, shan't, 
don't, should never appear in print, or even in correct 
conversation* 

How to pronounce the participial termination — ing. 

The termination ing, should never be sounded 
with the omission of the g, but always fully ; for 
instance, singing, bringing and swinging, ought 
never to be pronounced singin, bringin, and swing- 
in ; nor writing, reading, and speaking, as, wri- 
tin, readin, and speakin. None but imperfect speak- 
ers neglect the observance of the above termination 
indeed, the neglect of it is a mark of vulgarity. 

On the pronunciation of the word — to. 
The word to, in loose and frivolous conversation is 



68 ON BAD READING, &C. 

frequently suffered to dwindle into te, as, " I spoke to 
you about it long ago." This pronunciation is incorrect ; 
the word to, should invariably have its full sound, as 
if written two. The other dandified method, if I may be 
allowed the expression, used by the higher order of 
young fashionables in England, has done much to in- 
jure the pronunciation of our language. 



ELOQUENCE OF RELIGION. 



THE SAVIOUR'S SERMON ON THE MOUNT. 

And seeing the multitudes, he went up into a moun- 
tain ; and when he was set, his disciples came unto 
him : and he opened his mouth, and taught them, say- 
ing, Blessed are the poor in spirit : for theirs is the 
kingdom of heaven. Blessed are they that mourn : for 
they shall be comforted. Blessed are the meek : for 
they shall inherit the earth. Blessed are they which 
do hunger and thirst after righteousness : for they shall 
be filled. Blessed are the merciful : for they shall ob- 
tain mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart : for they 
shall see God. Blessed are the peace-makers : for they 
shall be called the children of God. Blessed are they 
which are persecuted for righteousness' sake : for theirs 
is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are ye when men 
shall revile you, and persecute you, and shall say all 
manner of evil against you falsely, for my sake. Re- 
joice, and be exceeding glad ; for great is your reward 
in heaven ; for so persecuted they the prophets which 
were before you. 

Ye are the salt of the earth : but if the salt have 
lost his savour, wherewith shall it be salted? it 
is thenceforth good for nothing, but to be cast out, 
and to be trodden under foot of men. Ye are the light 
of the world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be 
hid. Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a 
bushel, but on a candlestick ; and it giveth light unto 
all that are in the house. Let your light so shine be- 
fore men, that they may see your good works, and glo- 
rify your Father which is in heaven. 






70 ELOQUENCE OF RELIGION. 

Think not that I am come to destroy the law or the 
prophets : I am not come to destroy, but to fulfil. For 
verily I say unto you, till heaven and earth pass, one 
jot or one title shall in no wise pass from the law, till 
all be fulfilled. Whosoever therefore shall break one 
of these least commandments, and shall teach men so, 
he shall be called the least in the kingdom of heaven : 
but whosoever shall do, and teach them, the same shall 
be called great in the kingdom of heaven. For I say 
unto you, that except your righteousness shall exceed the 
righteousness of the Scribes and Pharisees, ye shall in 
no wise enter the kingdom of heaven. 

Ye have heard it was said by them of old time, Thou 
shalt not kill ; and whosoever shall kill shall be in dan- 
ger of the judgment. But I say unto you, That who- 
soever is angry with his brother without a cause shall 
be in danger of the judgment ; and whosoever shall 
say to his brother, Raca, shall be in danger of the coun- 
cil ; but whosoever shall say, Thou fool, shall be in 
danger of hell fire. Therefore if thou bring thy gift to 
the altar, and there rememberest that thy brother hath 
aught against thee, leave there thy gift before the al- 
tar, and go thy way ; first be reconciled to thy brother, 
and then come and offer thy gift. Agree with thine 
adversary quickly, while thou art in the way with him ; 
lest at any time the adversary deliver thee to the judge, 
and the judge deliver thee to the officer, and thou be 
cast into prison. Verily I say unto thee, Thou shalt by 
no means come out thence, till thou hast paid the ut- 
termost farthing. 

Ye have heard that it was said by them of old time, 
Thou shalt not commit adultery : but I say unto you, 
That whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her, 
hath committed adultery with her already in his heart. 
And if thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast 
it from thee ; for it is profitable for thee that one of thy 
members should perish, and not that thy whole body 
should be cast into hell. And if thy right hand offend 
thee, cut it off, and cast it from thee ; for it is profita- 
ble for thee that one of thy members should perish, and 



ELOQUENCE OF RELIGION 71 

not that thy whole body should be cast into hell. It 
hath been said, Whosoever shall put away his wife, let 
him give her a writing of divorcement : but I say unto 
you, That whosoever shall put away his wife, saving 
for the cause of fornication, causeth her to commit adul- 
tery : and whosoever shall marry her that is divorced 
committeth adultery. 

Again, ye have heard that it hath been said by them 
of old time, Thou shall not forswear thyself, but shalt 
perform unto the Lord thine oaths : but I say unto you, 
Swear not atall: neither by heaven, for it is God's throne: 
nor by the earth, for it is his footstool : neither by Je- 
rusalem, for it is the city of the great King : neither 
shalt thou swear by thy head, because thou canst not 
make one hair white or black : but let your commu- 
nication be Yea, yea ; Nay, nay : for whatsoever is more 
than these cometh of evil. 

Ye have heard that it hath been said, An eye for an 
eye, and a tooth for a tooth: but I say unto you, That 
ye resist not evil ; but whosoever shall smite thee on thy 
right cheek, turn to him the other also. And if any 
man will sue thee at the law, and take away thy coat, 
let him have thy cloak also. And whosoever shall com- 
pel thee to go a mile, go with him twain. Give to him 
that asketh thee, and from him that would borrow of 
thee turn not thou away. 

Ye have heard that it hath been said, Thou shalt love 
thy neighbor and hate thine enemy : But I say unto you, 
Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good 
to them that hate you, and pray for them which despite- 
fully use you, and persecute you ; that ye may be the 
children of your Father which is in heaven ; for he 
maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and 
sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust. For if 
ye love them which love you, what reward have ye? 
do not even the publicans the same ? And if ye salute 
your brethren only, what do ye more than others? do 
not even the publicans so ? Be ye therefore perfect, 
even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect. 

Take heed that ye do not your alms before men, to 



72 ELOQUENCE OF RELIGION, 

be seen of them ; otherwise ye have no reward of your 
Father which is in heaven. Therefore, when thou doest 
thine alms, do not sound a trumpet before thee, as the 
hypocrites do, in the synagogues, and in the streets, that 
they may have glory of men. Verily I say unto you, 
They have their reward. But when thou doest alms, 
let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth : 
that thine alms may be in secret ; and thy Father which 
seeth in secret, himself shall reward thee openly. 

And when thou prayest, thou shall not be as the hy- 
pocrites are : for they love to pray standing in the syna- 
gogues, and in the corners of the streets, that they may 
be seen of men. Verily I say unto you, they have their 
reward. But thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy 
closet ; and when thou hast shuc thy door, pray to thy 
Father which is in secret: and thy Father, which seeth in 
secret, shall reward thee openly. But when 3 r e pray, 
use not vain repetitions, as the heathen do ; for they 
think that they shall be heard for their much speaking. 
Be not ye therefore like unto them ; for your Father know 
eth what things ye have need of before ye ask him. 
After this manner therefore pray ye : Our Father which 
art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom 
come. Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven. 
Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our 
debts, as we forgive our debtors. And lead us not into 
temptation; but deliver us from evil; for thine is the 
kingdom, and the power, and the glory for ever. Amen. 

For if ye forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly 
Father will also forgive you ; but if ye forgive not men 
their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your 
trespasses. 

Moreover, when ye fast, be not as the hypocrites, of 
a sad countenance ; for they disfigure their faces, that 
they may appear unto men to fast. Verily I say unto 
you, They have their reward. But thou, when thou 
fastest, anoint thine head and wash thy face ; that thou 
appear not unto men to fast, but unto thy Father which 
is in secret : and thy Father which seeth in secret, 
shall reward thee openly. 



ELOQUENCE OF RELIGION. 73 

Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where 
moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break 
through and steal: but lay up for yourselves treasures 
in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, 
and where thieves do not break through nor steal : for 
where your treasure is, there will your heart be also. 

The light of the body is the eye: if therefore thine 
eye be single, thy whole body shall be full of light. 
But if thine eye be evil, thy whole body shall be full 
of darkness. If therefore the light that is in thee be 
darkness, how great is that darkness ! 

No man can serve two masters: for either he will 
hate the one, and love the other ; or else he will hold 
to the one, and despise the other. Ye cannot serve God 
and mammon. Therefore I say unto you, Take no 
thought for your life, what ye shall eat, or what ye shall 
drink ; nor yet for your body, what ye shall put on. Is 
not the life more than meat, and the body than raiment ? 
Behold the fowls of the air : for they sow not, neither 
do they reap, nor gather into barns ; yet your heavenly 
father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they? 
Which of you by taking thought, can add one cubit unto 
his stature ? And why take ye thought for raiment? 
Consider the lilies of the field how they grow ; they 
toil not, neither do they spin ; and yet I say unto you, 
That even Solomon, in all his glory, was not arrayed 
like one of these. Wherefore, if God so clothe the 
grass of the field, which to day is, and to-morrow is cast 
into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, O ye of 
little faith ? Therefore take no thought, saying, What 
shall we eat ? or, What shall we drink ? or, Wherewith- 
al shall we be clothed ? for after all these things do the 
Gentiles seek ; for your heavenly Father knoweth that 
ye have need of all these things. But seek ye first the 
kingdom of God, and his righteousness ; and all these 
things shall be added unto you. Take therefore no 
thought for the morrow : for the morrow shall take 
thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day 
is the evil thereof. 

Judge not, that ye be not judged. For with what 



74 ELOQUENCE OF RELIGION. 

judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged : and with what 
measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again. 
And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's 
eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own 
eye ? Or how wilt thou say to thy brother, Let me pull 
out the mote out of thine eye; and, behold, a beam is 
in thine own eye ? Thou hypocrite, first cast out the 
beam out of thine own eye ; and then shalt thou see 
clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother's eye. 

Give not that which is holy unto the dogs, neither 
cast ye your pearls before swine, lest they trample them 
under their feet, and turn again and rend you. 

Ask, and it shall be given you ; seek and ye shall find ; 
knock, and it shall be opened unto you: for every one 
that asketh, receiveth ; and he that seeketh, findeth ; 
and to him that knocketh it shall be opened. Or what 
man is there of you, whom, if his son ask bread, will 
he give him a stone ? or if he ask a fish, will he give 
him a serpent ? If ye then, being evil, know how to 
give good gifts unto your children, how much more 
shall your Father which is in heaven give good things 
to them that ask him ? Therefore all things what- 
soever ye would that men should do unto you, do ye even 
so to them : for this is the law and the prophets. 

Enter ye in at the strait gate ; for wide is the gate 
and broad is the way, that leadeth to destruction, and 
many there be which go in thereat : because strait is 
the gate, and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto 
life, and few there be that find it. 

Beware of false prophets, which come to you in 
sheep's clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves. 
Ye shall know them by their fruits. Do men gather 
grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles ? Even so every 
good tree bringeth forth good fruit ; but a corrupt tree 
bringeth forth evil fruit. A good tree cannot bring 
forth evil fruit, neither can a corrupt tree bring forth 
good fruit. Every tree that bringeth not forth good 
fruit is hewn down, and cast into the fire. Wherefore 
by their fruits ye shall know them. 

Not every one that saith unto me, Lord, Lord, shall 



ELOQUENCE OF RELIGION. 75 

enter into the kingdom of heaven ; but he that doeth 
the will of my Father which is in heaven. Many will 
say to me in that day, Lord, Lord, have we not prophe- 
sied in thy name ? and in thy name have cast out dev- 
ils ? and in thy name done many wonderful works ? 
And then will I profess unto them, I never knew you • 
depart from me, ye that work iniquity. 

Therefore whosoever heareth these sayings of mine, 
and doeth them, I will liken him unto a wise man, 
which built his bouse upon a rock; and the rain de- 
scended, and the floods came, and the winds blew and 
beat opon that house ; and it fell not : for it was found- 
ed upon a rock. And every one that heareth these say- 
ings of mine, and doeth them not, shall be likened un- 
to a foolish man, which built his house upon the sand : 
and the rain descended, and the floods came, and the 
winds blew, and beat upon that house ; and it fell : and 
great was the fall of it. 

And it came to pass, when Jesus had ended these 
sayings, the people were astonished at his doctrine : for 
he taught them as one having authority, and not as the 
scribes. 



I. CORINTHIANS, XT. CHAPTER. 

Moreover, brethren, I declare unto you the gospel 
which I preached unto you, which also ye have receiv- 
ed, and wherein ye stand ; by which also ye are saved, 
if ye keep in memory what I preached unto you, un- 
less ye have believed in vain. For I delivered unto 
you first of all that which I also received, how that 
Christ died for our sins according to the scriptures ; and 
that he was buried, and that he arose again the third 
day, according to the scriptures ; and that he was seen 
of Cephas, then of the twelve. After that he was seen 
of above five hundred brethren at once ; of whom the 
greater part remain unto this present, but some are fal- 
len asleep t after that he was seen of James ; then of 
all the apostles ; and last of all he was seen of me also, 



76 ELOQUENCE OF KELIGION. 

as of one born out of due time. For I am the least of 
the apostles, that I am not meet to be called an apostle, 
because I persecuted the church of God. But by the 
grace of God I am what lam; and his grace which was 
bestowed upon me was not in vain ; but I laboured 
more abundantly than they all : yet not I, but the grace 
of God which was with me. Therefore, whether it were I 
or they,so we preach, and so ye believed. Now if Christ 
be preached that he rose from the dead, how say some 
among you that there is no resurrection of the dead ? 
But if there be no resurrection of the dead,, then is Christ 
not risen. And if Christ be not risen, then is our 
preaching vain, and your faith is also vain. Yea, and 
we are found false witnesses of God ; because we have 
testified of God that he raised up Christ: whom he 
raised not up, if so be that the dead rise not. For if the 
dead rise not, then is not Christ raised : and if Christ 
be not raised, your faith is vain ; ye are yet in your sins. 
Then they also which are fallen asleep in Christ are 
perished. If in this life only we have hope in Christ, 
we are of all men most miserable. But now is Christ 
risen from the dead, and become the first fruits of them 
that slept. For since by man came death, by man came 
also the resurrection of the dead. For as in Adam all 
die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive. But ev- 
ery man in his own order: Christ the first fruits; af-. 
terward they that are Christ's at his coming. Then 
cometh the end, when he shall have delivered up the 
kingdom of God, even the Father ; when he shall have 
put down all rule, and all authority, and power. For 
he must reign, till he hath put all enemies under his 
feet. The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death. 
For he hath put all things under his feet. But when 
he saith, all things are put under him, it is manifest 
that he is excepted w T hich did put all things under 
him. And when all things shall be subdued unto 
him, then shall the Son also himself be subject unto 
him that put all things under him, that God may be all 
in all. Else what shall they do which are bapti- 
zed for the dead, if the dead rise nat at all ? why arc 



ELOQUENCE OF RELIGION. 77 

ihey then baptized for the dead ? and why stand we in 
jeopardy every hour ? I protest by your rejoicing, 
which I have, in Christ Jesus our Lord, I die daily. 
ff after the manner of men I have fought with beasts, 
at Ephesus, what advantageth it me if the dead rise 
not ? let us eat and drink ; for to-morrow we die. Be 
not deceived ; evil communications corrupt good man- 
ners. Awake to righteousness, and sin not ; for some 
have not the knowledge of God. I speak this to your 
shame. But some man will say, How are the dead 
raised up ? and with what body do they come ? Thou 
fool, that which thou sowest is not quickened, except it 
die. And that which thou sowest, thou sowest not that 
body that shall be, but bare grain; it may chance of 
wheat, or of some other grain : but God giveth it a bo- 
dy as it hath pleased him, and to every seed his own 
body. All flesh is not the same flesh : but there is one 
kind of flesh of men, another flesh of beasts, another of 
fishes, and another of birds. There are also celestial 
bodies, and bodies terrestrial : but the glory of the ce- 
lestial is one, and the glory of the terrestrial is another. 
There is one glory of the sun, and another glory of the 
moon, and another glory of the stars ; for one star dif- 
fereth from another star in glory. So also is the resur- 
rection of the dead : it is sown in corruption, it is raised 
in incorruption : it is sown in dishonour, it is raised in 
glory : it is sown in weakness, it is raised in power : it 
is sown a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body* 
There is a natural body, and there is a spiritual body. 
And so it is written, The first man Adam was made a 
living soul, the last Adam was made a quickening 
spirit. 

Howbeit, that was not first which is spiritual, but that 
which is natural; and afterward that which is spiritu- 
al. The first man is of the earth, earthy ; the second 
man is the Lord from heaven. As is the earthy, such 
are they also that are earthy ; and as is the heavenly, 
such are they also that are heavenly. And as we have 
borne the image of the earthy, we shall also bear the 
image of the heavenly. Now this I say, brethren, that 






7» 



73 ELOQUENCE OF KELICHON. 

flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God ; 
neither doth corruption inherit incorruption. Behold, I 
shew you a mystery ; We shall not all sleep, but we 
shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of 
an eye, at the last trump ; for the trumpet shall sound ; 
and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall 
be changed. For this corruptible must put on incorrup- 
tion, and this mortal must put on immortality. So when 
this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this 
mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall be 
brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is 
swallowed up in victory. O death, where is thy sting ? 
O grave, where is thy victory ? The sting of death is 
sin, and the strength of sin is the law. But thanks be 
to God which giveth us the victory through our Lord 
Jesus Christ. Therefore, my beloved brethren, be ye 
steadfast, unmoveable, always abounding in the work 
of the Lord, forasmuch as ye know that your labour is 
not in vain in the Lord. 



PAUL'S DEFENCE BEFORE AGRIPPA. 

Then Agrippa said unto Paul, thou art permitted to 
speak for thyself. Then Paul stretched forth the hand, 
and answered for himself. 

I think myself happy, king Agrippa, because I shall 
answer for myself this day before thee touching all 
the things whereof I am accused of the Jew r s : espe- 
cially because I know thee to be expert in all customs 
and questions which are among the Jews : wherefore 
I beseech thee to hear me patiently. My manner of 
life from my youth, which was at the first among mine 
own nation at Jerusalem, know all the Jews ; which 
knew me from the beginning, if they would testify, 
that after the most straitest sect of our religion, I lived 
a Pharisee. And now I stand, and am judged for the 
hope of the promise made of God unto our fathers : 
unto which promise our twelve tribes, instantly serving 
God day and night, hope to come : for which hope's 



ELOQUENCE OF RELIGION. 79 

sake, king Agrippa, I am accused of the Jews. "Why- 
should it be thought a thing incredible with you, that 
God should raise the dead ? I verily thought with myself r 
that I ought to do many things contrary to the name of 
Jesus of Nazareth. Which thing I also did in Jerusa- 
lem : and many of the saints did I shut up in prison, 
having received authority from the chief priests ; and 
when they were put to death, I gave my voice against 
them. And I punished them oft in eveiy synagogue, 
and compelled them to blaspheme; and, being exceed- 
ingly mad against them, I persecuted them even unto 
strange cities. Whereupon, as I went to Damascus, 
with authority and commission from the chief priests, 
at mid-day, king, I saw in the way a light from 
heaven, above the brightness of the sun, shining round 
about me, and them which journeyed with me. And 
when we were all fallen to the earth, [ heard a voice 
speaking unto me, and saying, in the Hebrew tongue, 
Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me ? It is hard for 
thee to kick against the pricks. And I said, Who art 
thou, Lord ? And he said, I am Jesus whom thou per- 
secutest. But rise, and stand upon thy feet : for I have 
appeared unto thee for this purpose, to make thee a min- 
ister and a witness both of these things which thou 
hast seen, and of those things in the which I will appear 
unto thee ; delivering thee from the people, and from 
the Gentiles, unto whom now I send thee, to open their 
eyes, and to turn them from darkness to light, and from 
the power of Satan unto God, that they may receive 
forgiveness of sins, and inheritance among them w T hich 
are sanctified by faith that is in me. Whereupon, O 
king Agrippa, I was not disobedient unto the heavenly 
vision : but shewed first unto them of Damascus, and 
at Jerusalem, and throughout all the coasts of Judea, 
and then to the Gentiles, that they should repent and 
turn to God, and do works meet for repentance. For 
these causes the Jews caught me in the temple, and 
went about to kill me. Having therefore obtained help 
of God, I continue unto this day, witnessing both to 
small and great, saying none other things than those 



80 ELOQUENCE OF RELIGION. 

which the prophets and Moses did say should come : 
that Christ should suffer, and that he should be the first 
that should rise from the dead, and should shew light 
unto the people, and to the Gentiles. And as he thus 
spake for himself, Festus said, with a loud voice, Paul, 
thou art beside thyself; much learning doth make thee 
mad. But he said, I am not mad, most noble Festus ; 
but speak forth the words of truth and soberness. For 
the king knoweth of these things, before whom also I 
speak freely: for I am persuaded that none of these 
things are hidden from him ; for this thing was not 
done in a corner. King Agrippa, believest thou the 
prophets ? I know that thou believest. Then Agrip- 
pa said unto Paul, almost thou persuadest me to be a 
Christian. And Paul said, I would to God, that not 
only thou, but also all that hear me this day, were both 
almost, and altogether such as I am, except these bonds. 
And when he had thus spoken, the king rose up, and 
the governor and Bernice, and they that sat with 
them. And when they were gone aside, they talked 
between themselves, saying, this man doeth nothing 
worthy of death, or of bonds. Then said Agrippa 
unto Festus, this man might have been set at liberty, 
if he had not appealed unto Csesar. 



EXTRACT FROM XIV. CHAPTER OF JOB. 

Man that is born of a woman is of few days, and 
full of trouble. He cometh forth like a flower, and is 
cut down : he fleeth also as a shadow, and continueth 
not. His days are determined, the number of his 
months are with thee, thou hast appointed his bounds 
that he cannot pass ; turn from him that he may rest, 
till he shall accomplish, as an hireling, his day. For 
there is hope of a tree, if it be cut down, that it will 
sprout again, and that the tender branch thereof will 
not cease. Though the root thereof wax old in the 
earth, and the stock thereof die in the ground ; yet 



ELOQUENCE OF EELIGION. 81 

through the scent of water it will bud, and bring forth 
boughs like a plant. But man dieth and wasteth 
away : yea, man giveth up the ghost, and where 
is he ? 



CHARACTER OF A CHRISTIAN MOTHER. 

What a public blessing, what an instrument of the 
most exalted good, is a virtuous Christian mother ! It 
would require a far other pen than mine to trace the 
merits of such a character. How many, perhaps, who 
now hear me, feel that they owe to it all the virtue and 
piety that adorn them ; or may recollect at this moment 
some saint in heaven, that brought them into light to 
labor for their happiness, temporal and eternal ! No 
one can be ignorant of the irresistible influence w T hich 
such a mother possesses, in forming the hearts of her 
children, at a season when nature takes in lesson and 
example at every pore. Confined by duty and inclina- 
tion within the walls of her own house, every hour of 
her life becomes an hour of instruction ; every feature 
of her conduct a transplanted virtue. Methinks I be- 
hold her encircled by her beloved charge, like a being 
more than human, to which every mind is bent, and 
every eye directed ; the eager simplicity of infancy in- . 
haling from her lips the sacred truths of religion, in 
adapted phrase and familiar story; the whole rule of 
their moral and religious duties simplified for easier 
infusion. The countenance of this fond and anxious 
parent, all beaming with delight and love, and her eye » 
raised occasionally to heaven in fervent supplication 
for a blessing on her work. O ! what a glorious part 
does such a woman act on the great theatre of human- 
ity ; and how much is that mortal to be pitied, who is 
not struck with the image of such excellence ! When 
I look to its consequences, direct and remote, I see the 
plants she has raised and cultivated spreading through 
the community with the richest increase of fruit. I 
see her diffusing happiness and virtue through a great 
portion of the human race. I can fancy generations 



82 ELOQUENCE OF RELIGION. 

yet unborn rising to prove, and to hail her worth. I adore 
that God who can destine a single human creature to 
he the stem of such extended and incalculable benefit 
to the world. 



CHARACTER OF A CHRISTIAN WIFE. 

In the character of a wife we find a virtuous woman 
equally existing for the happiest purposes. Nothing is 
more true than what the Apostle has asserted, that a 
christian wife is the salvation of her husband. For 
surely, if anything can have power to wean a man from 
evil, it is the living image of all that is perfect, con- 
stantly before his eyes, in the person whom, next 
to God, he must be assured has his present and future 
felicity most at heart; who joins to the influence of her 
example the most assiduous attention to please; who 
knows, from the experience of every hour, where his 
errors and vices may be assailed w r ith any prospect of 
success ; who is instructed, by the close study of his 
disposition, when to speak and when to be silent ; who 
watches and distinguishes that gleam of reflection which 
no eye can perceive but her own ; who can fascinate by 
the mildness and humility of her manner, at the mo- 
ment she expostulates and reproves ; who receives him 
with smiles and kindness, even when conscience smites 
him the most with a sense of his neglect and unworthi- 
^ness ; who has always a resource at hand in his diffi- 
culties, and tender apologies to reprieve him from him- 
self ; and a gracious presentiment ever on her lips, that 
the day will come when he will know how to value the 
advantages of good conduct, and the unruffled serenity 
of virtue. Yes, my brethren, the ministry of such a 
woman is daily found to work the reformation of our 
sex, when all other resources fail ; when neither mis- 
fortune, nor shame, nor the counsels of friendship, nor 
the considerations of hell or heaven have any more ef- 
fect than the whistling of the elements. How zealous- 



ELOQUENCE OF RELIGION. 83 

ly should we therefore labor to diffuse such characters 
tiirough the people. 



CHARACTER OF A LIBERTINE. 

A man born for the disaster of the sex ; whose bru- 
tal and ungovernable passions, mastering every senti- 
ment of pity and generosity in his soul, urge him to 
deeds beyond the very reach of atonement ! Nay, the 
very recollection of which is often so intolerable to him- 
self, as to require the habit of banishing even reason 
itself, to mitigate the horror of his feelings. And what 
aggravates beyond expression the enormity of such 
guilt, is, that where ordinary means are insufficient to 
the accomplishment of its diabolical purposes, it can 
veil itself in the deepest hypocrisy ; can appeal even 
to heaven to witness the purity of its intentions ; have 
recourse to the most horrid profanation of vows and 
promises ; steal an artless creature into perfect reliance 
on its honor; lead her to her fall, as the innocent and 
unsuspecting lamb is conducted to the sacrifice ; riot for 
a while on the polluted ruin : then leave her, like a ten- 
der blossom blasted in its spring, either to droop in si- 
lent melancholy to the grave, or rush from despair into 
the depths of infamy, and revenge her wrongs on the 
community. 

Christians, why is this execrable cast of men so lit- 
tle reprobated in the world ? To be formidable and ir- 
resistible in this way has ever been a kind of glory. 
The more public and notorious they are, the more pride 
in their steps, the more elevated their brows. There 
are degrees of guilt you would spurn from your pre- 
sence, and blush to hold the most distant intercourse 
with. A man convicted, even in mean and dishonor- 
able actions, is avoided like a pestilence. But from 
what society, what intercourse, what intimacy, is the 
libertine by profession excluded ? To the scandal of all 
decency, religion and morals, from few. Nay, it would 
almost seem that the infamous title he bears was no 



84 ELOQUENCE OF RELIGION 

small recommendation. For what impression does an 
allusion to his pursuits usually excite but that of mer- 
riment and laughter ? This goes to confirm and en- 
courage, instead of appalling him ; brings complacency 
into his heart, not the blush of shame into his cheek. 
When so few turn from him with disgust and horror, 
has he not a right to conclude that he is engaged in a 
career which the world approves ? And yet what is he 
in fact but one of the greatest pests a community can 
be cursed with; whose whole life has no other object 
but to convert it into a scene of calamity and vice ? 
Who is known to make charity, yes, sacred charity, the 
pander of his foul appetites ; will open his hand with 
profusion to the necessitous, in order to shut their eyes 
on the seduction of their children ; who respects not 
rights that are rigorously respected by very barbarians ; 
would dishonor the family of his host or friend "with the 
same indifference that he would that of the meanest of 
human creatures ; and be as ready to meet, that is, to 
imbrue his hands in the blood of the father or brother 
of his victim, as he was to destroy the chief source of 
their pride and happiness forever. Alas ! how many 
unfortunate parents, after the fatal dishonor of a child, 
have never raised their heads more, nor passed a mo- 
ment of remaining life, but in counting the pulsations 
of a broken heart. 

No woman ever voluntarily surrendered the blessing 
of a fair name. The sensitive plant shrinks not more 
instinctively from the touch, than the nature of wo- 
man from aefilement. The love and pride of purity are 
still entwined with her being, and the last breath of 
virtue ever consecrated to the fair state from which she 
falls. Often, in the midst of the most thoughtless and 
headlong course of vice, will the tear of sad recollec- 
tion steal down into the empoisoned cup. Though, gen- 
erally, she may be found to evince a detestation of the 
modest and virtuous part of her sex, it is not, believe 
me, that happy distinction from which she recoils, but 
from the objects that too strongly remind her of her 
own infamy and degradation. 



ELOQUENCE OF UELIGION. 85 

THE MISER, 

Attention to our own concerns can become culpable 
only, when they so far enslave and engross us, as to 
leave us neither leisure nor inclination to promote the 
happiness of our fellow creatures. Then does self-love 
degenerate into selfishness. This, indeed, is a dark 
and melancholy transformation of our natural character, 
and the last term of its abasement. When the light 
of benevolence is entirely put out, man is reduced to 
that state of existence, which is disavowed by nature, 
and abhorred of God! Let one suppose him, I say, but 
once radically divested of all generous feelings, and 
entirely involved in himself; it will be impossible to 
say, what deeds of shame and horror he will not readily 
commit : in the balance of his perverted judgment, hon- 
or, gratitude, friendship, religion, yea, even natural 
affection, will all be outweighed by interest. The 
maxim of the Roman satirist will be his rule of life, 
* money at any rate." If the plain and beaten paths 
of the world, diligence and frugality, will conduct him 
to that end, it is well : but if not, rather than fail of his 
object, I will be bold to say, he will plunge, without 
scruple or remorse, into the most serpentine labyrinths 
of fraud and iniquity. Whilst his schemes are unac- 
complished, fretfulness and discontent will lower on his 
brow ; when favorable, and even most prosperous, his 
unslaked and unsatisfied soul still thirsts for more. As 
he is insensible to the calamities of his fellow creatures, 
so the greatest torment he can experience, is an appli- 
cation to his charity and compassion. Should he stum- 
ble, like the Levite, on some spectacle of woe, he will, 
like the Levite, hasten to the other side of the way, 
resist the finest movements of nature, and cling to the 
demon of inhumanity, as the guardian angel of his 
happiness. Suppose him, however, under the acciden- 
tal necessity of listening to the petition of misery; he 
will endeavour to beat down the evidence of the case 
by the meanest shifts and evasions ; or will cry aloud, 
as the brutal and insensible Nabal did to the hungry 
soldiers of David, " Why should I be such a fool, as to 

8 



S6 ELOQUENCE OF RELIGION. 

give my flesh, which I have prepared for my shearers, 
to men that I know not from whence they be?" But, 
admitting that a remnant of shame may goad him foi 
once to an act of beneficence, so mean and inconsidera- 
ble, so unworthy of the great concern would it probably 
be, that the idol of his soul would appear more distinctly 
in the very relief he administers, than in the barbarous 
insensibility which habitually withholds it. Merciful 
and eternal God ! what a passion ! And how much 
ought the power and fascination of that object to be 
dreaded which can turn the human heart into such a 
pathless and irreclaimable desert. Irreclaimable, I say; 
for men inflamed with any other passion, even volup- 
tuousness the most impure and inveterate, are some- 
times enlightened and reformed by the ministry of reli- 
gion, or the sober and deliberate judgment of manhood 
and experience. But who will say that such a wretch 
as I have described, in the extremity of selfishness, 
was ever corrected by any ordinary resource or expe- 
dient ? Who will say that he is at any time vulnera- 
ble by reproach, or, I had almost added, even conver- 
tible by grace ! No ; through every stage and revolu- 
tion of life he remains invariably the same ; or, if any 
difference, it is only this, that as he advances into the 
shade of a long evening, he clings closer and elosei 
to the object of his idolatry: and while every other 
passion lies dead and blasted in his heart, his desire 
for more pelf increases with renewed eagerness, and 
he holds by a sinking world with an agonizing grasp, till 
lie drop into the earth with the increased curses oi 
wretchedness on his head, without the tribute of a teai 
from child or parent, or any inscription on his memory , 
but that he lived to counteract the distributive justice 
of Providence, and died without hope or title, to. a 
blessed immortality. 



ADVICE TO PARENTS. 

If our insensibility to the pressing claims of the 
rising generation proceed from our corruption, that cor- 



ELOQUENCE OF RELIGION. 87 

ruption has its chief source in the very education we 
have received. If the people are victims, because ab- 
solutely untutored, so are we, because the stress in our 
education is not laid where it ought to be. Nothing 
indeed is usually omitted that can fit the youth of both 
sexes to play a part in the world ; the one to climb by 
their talents; the other to triumph in the wretched circles 
of vanity by the grace of manners. But a deep and in- 
delible sense of their duty to God, a fixed horror of 
vice, and noble disdain of folly, where is the parent 
who thinks sufficiently of inspiring? But admitting 
that some pains are employed on this head, of what 
use can they be, if, from their infrequency and langour, 
they are considered by children rather as a debt paid 
to custom and routine, than a thing of serious and aw- 
ful necessity ? How shall the superficial tincture of re- 
ligion and virtue hold against the rising passions of 
youth \ No ; when the season of their hurricane comes, 
what lies merely on the surface of the heart, will be 
torn up and swept away like chaff before the winds. 
No ; if impressions penetrate not to the very bottom of 
the soul, are not united with our very being, never 
shall man resist, for any time, the power of the enemy 
within, or of the world without. The evidence of this 
is on every side of us. Besides, of what use are in- 
structions, even assiduously and fervently conveyed, 
without unceasing vigilance to cut off all danger of 
corruption ? We know, that to relax in this particular 
but a moment, is sometimes fatal. Eemember that our 
Saviour scarce slumbered when the tempest arose to 
overwhelm the vessel that bore his disciples. Eemem- 
ber the counsel of the Wise Man, " Never lose sight 
of what you value, and are in danger of losing." Be 
member the fate of the unfortunate Dinah, " who went 
out without being accompanied." What tears the 
compliance of a moment cost the afflicted Jacob, 
and what torrents of blood were shed to repair the 
injury he received. Indefatigable attention then to 
this point is indispensably necessary. But who at 
this day, make it a rule never to admit their children 



So ELOQUENCE OF RELIGION 

to improper intercourse ? How often, on the contrary,, 
are they permitted to pass warm from the lesson of 
piety and virtue into circles of pleasure and dissipation , 
where every thing they hear and see tends to enervate 
the mind and corrupt the heart ? It will easily, I be- 
lieve, be admitted, that the world possesses the secret 
of making perfect proselytes to vice without giving 
any direct lessons on the subject ; and that many a 
youth may be thought a saint at home, who is known 
among his associates as a libertine of the very first 
hope; and who secretly laughs at the imbecility of his 
parents, who could rely on theory, and overlook the 
force of example. 

I cannot omit reprobating on this head the too famil- 
iar intercourse to which children are admitted with 
servants. For to say nothing of the coarse and gro- 
velling habits they must consequently imbibe; nothing 
of those arrogant, and supercilious notions that are ne- 
cessarily contracted from being flattered and fawned 
on ; the great danger is, that as servants, in general, 
have not been blessed with the advantage of education, 
and are under no sort of restraint, but what arises 
merely from the dread of dismission, they will often 
utter language, and betray principles, that sink deep 
into the recollection of young minds, and naturally 
produce the most deplorable effects. 

I would remind parents, how infinite are the qualities 
necessary to succeed in seducing, I may say, the un- 
derstanding and the hearts of children to the knowledge 
and love of virtue. There should be tenderness to en- 
gage their affection ; bounty to attract their confidence , 
gravity to draw their respect; authority to hold them in 
submission ; affability to render their dependence ami- 
able ; severity that has nothing revolting; compliance 
that has nothing base ; mildness that knows how to for- 
give ; firmness that can punish and repress ; wisdom 
that can sometimes dissemble, and seem ignorant of 
what it sees ; deep attention to discover their ruling 
passions ; attention, if possible, still more deep, to 
counteract them, and yet conceal the discovery ; in fine, 



ELOQUENCE OF RELIGION. 89 

Almost as many forms of proceeding as there are chil- 
dren to educate; for as every plant requires not the 
same kind of culture, so, what would.be useful in form- 
ing the mind of one child, would be dangerous, or even 
fatal in forming that of another. But where are the 
parents who would know themselves in this represen- 
tation ? Sensible they niay be of its justice, but such 
a tax on their time and attention, is found incompatible 
with their ordinary pursuits ; incompatible with a life 
of pleasure ; of tranquility and repose. What is the 
consequence ? Why in the little they may do to for- 
ward this great work, they fall into a thousand errors ; 
being directed more by humor and impatience, than by 
sound and serious reflection. 

Some are even brutal to excess in the treatment of 
their children ; converting an occupation in which ten- 
derness and insinuation should take the lead, into a sys- 
tem of downright persecution. When called on to re- 
prehend, they do it in words of wormwood and gall. 
When forced to approve, their manner is cold and dis- 
couraging. They neither do justice to the virtues, nor 
can forgive the weakness of youth. No entreaties can 
molify, no tears disarm them. Their families are the 
region of eternal tempests, where nothing is heard but 
the moans of the oppressed, and the bellow of the ty- 
rant. The unhappy victims may be truly said to feed on 
the bread of tears and wretchedness. They consider 
their parents as the most cruel enemies ; loathe and de- 
test their precepts ; and never can be induced to con- 
sider that virtue amiable which is recommended in ac- 
cents of terror, and enforced by insupportable authority* 

Hence the most ardent longing for emancipation* 
Hence do the youth of one sex plunge early and openly 
into vice, more, perhaps, from rage against their perse- 
cutors, than from natural inclination ; and those of the 
other, often at the tenderest age, fly into the arms of the 
first man who offers to be their deliverer ; form unequal 
and inglorious matches ; or become victims of a far 
more deplorable misfortune. 

There may be, however, and often is, a defect in the 

8* 



90 ELOQUENCE OF RELIGION. 

conduct of parents, of a nature the very opposite ; name* 
ly, that of loving their children too much, or, more pro- 
perly speaking, to their ruin. " He that spareth the 
rod," saith the Wise Man, " hateth his son : but he 
that loveth him chasteneth him betimes." Dreadful 
are the consequences of that blind affection which will 
see no fault in a child, and suffer all the untoward pro- 
pensities of his nature to grow up and strengthen from 
the fear of afflicting them by control. 

It is not uncommon to see such spoiled children, if I 
may use a received expression, treating even their too 
indulgent parents with habitual insolence and disre- 
spect ; starting into ungovernable sallies of rage at the 
slightest opposition to their will ; become absolute pests, 
not only in their own families, but wherever they are 
admitted ; and betraying, on all occasions, such sinister 
propensities as should make parents tremble for their 
future happiness. 

But what must we think, when, as they advance in 
years, their vices and irregularities are overlooked from 
the same principle ? When parents are found to treat 
the most notorious profligacy with unabated familiarity 
and affection ; nay, frequently listen with smiles and 
complacency to the history of the most scandalous freaks 
and excesses ! 

Great God, with what justice shall such children, at 
the close of an unhappy life, descending perhaps into the 
grave covered with abominations, and despairing of fu- 
turity, pour burning curses on the heads of those who 
might have prevented so dreadful a catastrophe, by 
loving them as they ought to have loved ! 

My friends, we are invested by nature and religion 
with a kind of sovereign authority over our children. 
Let us use it with tender reluctance on all occasions ; 
but when necessary, with inflexible justice. Nothing 
should stand between us and this most sacred duty. 

Another capital error to which parents are liable, is, 
not so much the feeling, as the betraying, a greater re* 
gard for one child than another. Did such a distinction: 
arise from a difference in their deserts, it might be jus- 



ELOQUENCE OF RELIGION. 91 

tified, as going to promote a spirit of emulation in good 
conduct ; but founded generally on pure caprice, or some 
quality merely extrinsic, and often too in favor of the 
most unworthy, I need not observe, that it is as opposite 
to reason, as it is irreconcilable with the principles of 
religion and the impartiality of nature ; besides that it 
invariably goes to excite the worst passions in the breasts 
of children. For they who are forced into the shade, 
delivered over to the most mortifying neglect, to 
make room for the monopoly of one, will feel it to the 
quick; will burn with implacable hatred and resent- 
ment against the favorite ; and be impelled to despise, 
if not detest, the parent who is capable of such mani- 
fest injustice. Nor is it out of experience to say, that 
a strong and bitter recollection of that injustice is some- 
times preserved far beyond the season of youth ; and 
that parents have looked in vain for that filial affection 
and duty which they once took no pains to foment, or 
rather labored indirectly to extinguish. 

The last obstacle to success in this cause, and one 
absolutely insuperable, is the want of edifying deport- 
ment in parents. Where this is wanting, all other ef- 
forts are but solemn mockery. It is the strangest abuse 
of common sense, to suppose children will retain lessons 
of religion and virtue, whatever solemnity may be used 
to infix them, when they have hourly before their eyes 
so great a contradiction, as a dissipated or vicious ex- 
ample in the very person of their instructor. A debauch- 
ed father may indeed compose a serious face, and speak 
to his son in sentences on his duty to God, and the de- 
basement of being mastered by his passions ; or a wo- 
man of the world may read, for mere variety, a lecture 
to her daughter on the advantages of modesty, reserve 
and retirement. But what effect will either produce, 
but a manifest impatience of, or a suppressed contempt 
for such barefaced effrontery ? But again, with what 
indignation shall we think of those who use no effort 
whatsoever to weaken the effect of their conduct ; but 
train up their children openly and directly to vice and 
irreligion ; sporting in their presence with the most sa 



9S ELOQUENCE OF RELIGION. 

cred things ; holding language avowedly or transparent- 
ly obscene ; pressing on their hearts a most irritable 
sense of the slightest injury or insult ; recommending, 
nay, consecrating the sanguinary rules of modern hon- 
or ; implanting an ardent thirst of riches and exclusive 
ambition of human glory; just as if their object was to 
spare the devil, the world, and the flesh, the trouble of 
seducing them at a future day ; as if, not content with 
being personally impious and abandoned, they would 
perpetuate their crimes and impiety in a guilty race ; 
and, from the bottom of the tomb, continue to insult 
heaven and earth in the persons of their children, when 
no longer in a capacity of doing so themselves ? If such 
parents tremble not at the thought of thy vengeance, 
O just and righteous God ! what minister of iniquity 
can have cause to tremble ? Let those who are parents 
among us reflect on this awful and too intelligible sen- 
tence, " their blood will I require at your hands." 
Their blood ! If such be the language of God himself, 
dreadfully forewarning them, better, far better, they 
had never been born, than do the work of Satan in the 
very bosom of their families ; and, contrary to the loud 
cry of nature, deliberately plunge their children in an 
abyss temporal and everlasting. 



ELOQUENCE- OF THE BAR 



THE. CAUSE OF THE KING 

AGAINST THE 

HONOURABLE ME. JUSTICE JOHNSON. 

My Lords — : 

It has fallen to my lot, either fortunately or unfortu- 
nately, as the event may be, to rise as counsel for my 
client on this most important and momentous occasion. 
I appear before you, my lords, in consequence of a writ 
issued by his maj est v, commanding that cause be shown 
to this, his court, why his subject has been deprived of 
his liberty, and upon the cause show r n in obedience to 
this writ, it is my duty to address you on the most aw- 
ful question, if awfulness be to be judged by consequen- 
ces and events, on which you have been ever called up- 
on to decide. Sorry am I that the task has not been 
confided to more adequate powers ; but, feeble as they 
are, they will at least not shrink from it — I move you 
therefore, that Mr. Justice Johnson be released from 
illegal imprisonment. 

I cannot but observe the sort of scenic preparation 
with which this sad drama is sought to be brought for- 
ward. In part I approve it ; in part it excites my dis- 
gust and indignation. I am glad to find that the attorney 
and solicitor generals, the natural and official prosecu- 
tors for the state, do not appear ; and I infer from their 
absence, that his excellency the lord lieutenant, dis- 
claims any personal concern in this execrable transac- 
tion. I think it does him much honour ; it is a conduct 
that equally agrees with the dignity of his character, and 
the feelings of his heart. To his private virtues, when- 
ever he is left to their influence, I willingly concur m 



94 ELOQENCE OF THE BAR. 

giving the most unqualified tribute of respect. And I 
do firmly believe, it is with no small regret that he even 
suffers his name to be formally made use of, in avow- 
ing for a return of one of the judges of the land with as 
much difference and nonchalance, as if he were a beast 
of the plough. I observe, too, the dead silence into 
which the public is frowned by authority for the sad oc- 
casion. No man dares to mutter ; no newspaper dares 
to whisper that such a question is afloat. It seems an 
inquiry among the tombs, or rather in the shades be- 
yond them. 

Ibant sola sub node 'per umbram. 

I am glad it is so — I am glad of this factitious dumb- 
ness : for if murmurs dared to become audible, my voice 
would be too feeble to drown them ; but when all is 
hushed — when nature sleeps — 

Cum quies mortalibus cegris, 

The weakest voice is heard — the shepherd's whistle 
shoots across the listening darkness of the interminable 
heath, and gives notice that the wolf is upon his walk, 
and the same gloom and stillness that tempt the mon- 
ster to come abroad, facilitate the communication of the 
warning to beware. Yes, through that silence the 
voice shall be heard; yes, through that silence the 
shepherd shall be put upon his guard ; yes, through 
that silence shall the felon savage be chased into the 
toil. My lords, I feel myself cheered and impressed by 
the composed and dignified attention with which I see 
you are disposed to hear me on the most important ques- 
tion that has ever been subjected to your consideration ; 
the most important to the dearest rights of the human 
being ; the most deeply interesting and animating that 
can beat in his heart, or burn upon his tongue. — Oh 
how recreating is it to feel that occasions may arise in 
which the soul of man may reassume her pretensions ; 
m which she hears the voice of nature whisper to her, 



ELOQUENCE OF THE BAR. 95 

os homini sublime d'ediccelumque tueri ; in which even 
I can look up with calm security to the court, and down 
with the most profound contempt upon the reptile I 
mean to tread upon ! I say reptile ; because when the 
proudest man in society becomes so the dupe of his child- 
ish malice, as to wish to inflict on the object of his ven- 
geance, the poison of his sting, to do a reptile's work, 
he must shrink into a reptile's dimension ; and so 
shrunk, the only way to assail him is to tread upon him. 
But to the subject : — this writ of habeas corpus, has had 
a return. That return states, that Lord Ellenborough, 
chief justico of England, issued a warrant reciting the 
foundation of this dismal transaction : that one of the 
clerks of the crown-office had certified to him that an in- 
dictment had been found at Westminster, charging the 
Hon. Robert Johnson, late of Westminster, one of the 
justices of his majesty's court of common pleas in Ire- 
land, w T ith the publication of certain slanderous libels 
against the government of that country ; against the 
person of his excellency Lord Hardwicke, lord lieutenant 
of that country ; against the person of lord Redesdale, 
the chancellor of Ireland ; and against the person of Mr. 
Justice Osborne, one of the justices of the court of 
King's Bench in Ireland. One of the clerks of the 
crown-office, it seems, certified all this to his lordship. 
How many of those there are, or who they are, or w r hich 
of them so certified, we cannot presume to guess, be- 
cause the learned and noble lord is silent as to those 
circumstances. We are only informed that one of them 
made that important communication to his lordship. It 
puts me in mind of the information given to one of 
Fielding's justices. 

"Did not," says his worship's wife, " the man with 
the wallet make his fidavy that you was a vagram ?" I 
suppose it was some such petty bag officer w r ho gave 
Lord Ellenborough to understand that Mr. Justice John* 
son was indicted. And being thus given to understand 
and be informed, he issued his- warrant to a gentleman, 
no doubt of great respectability, a Mr. Williams, his 
tipstaff, to take the body of Mr Justice Johnson and 



$6 EJAH^UENCE OF THE BAH. 

bring him before a magistrate, for the purpose of giving 
bail to appear within the first eight days of this term, 
so that there might be a trial within the sittings after ; 
and if, by the blessing of God, he should be convicted, 
then to appear on the return of the postea, to be dealt 
with according to law. 

Perhaps it may be a question for you to decide, 
whether that warrant, such as it may be, is not now 
absolutely spent ; and, if not, how a man can contrive 
to be hereafter in England on a day that is past ? And 
high as the opinion may be in England of Irish under- 
standing, it will be something beyond even Irish exact- 
ness, to bind him to appear in England not a fortnight 
hence, but a fortnight ago. I wish, my lords, we had 
the art of giving time this retrograde motion. If pos- 
sessed of the secret, we might possibly be disposed to 
improve it from fortnights into years. 

There is something not incurious in the juxtaposition 
of signatures. The warrant is signed by the chief 
justice of all England. In music, the ear is reconciled 
to strong transitions of key by a preparatory resolution 
of the intervening discords ; but here, alas ! there is 
nothing to break the fall : the august title of Ellenbo- 
rough is followed %y the unadorned name of brother 
Bell, the sponsor of his lordship's warrant. Let me 
not, however, be suffered to deem lightly of the com- 
peer of the noble and learned lord. Mr. Justice Bell 
ought to be a lawyer ; I remember him myself long a 
crier, and I knew his credit with the state ; he has had 
a nolle prosequi. I see not therefore why it may not 
fairly be said "fortunati amboV It appears by this 
return, that Mr. Justice Bell endorses this bill of lading 
to another consignee, Mr. Medlicot, a most respectable 
gentleman ; he describes himself upon the warrant, and 
he gives a delightful specimen of the administration of 
justice, and the calendar of saints in office : he describes 
himself a justice and a peace officer — that is, a magis- 
trate, and a catchpole : so that he may receive informa- 
tions as a justice ; if he can write, he may draw them 
as a clerk ; if not, he can execute the warrant as bailiff; 



ELOQUENCE OF THE BAR. 97 

and, if it be a capital offence, you may see the culprit, 
the justice, the clerk, the bailiff, and the hangman, 
together in the same cart; and, though he may not 
write, he may " ride and tie !" What a pity that their 
journey should not be further continued together! That. 
as they had been " lovely in their lives, so in their 
deaths they might not be divided !" I find, my lords, 
I have undesignedly raised a laugh; never did I less 
feel merriment. — Let not me be condemned — let not 
the laugh be mistaken. — Never was Mr. Hume more 
just than when he says, that, " in many things the ex- 
tremes are nearer to one another than the means." — 
Few are those events that are produced by vice and 
folly, that fire the heart with indignation, that do not 
also shake the sides with laughter. So when the two 
famous moralists of old beheld the sad spectacle of life, 
the one burst into laughter, and the other melted into 
tears ; they were each of them right, and equally right 

Si credas utrique 
Res sunt humance Jlebile ludibrium. 

But these laughs are the bitter ireful laughs of honesc 
indignation, — or they are the laughs of hectic melan- 
choly and despair. 

It is stated to you, my lords, that these two justices, 
if justices they are to be called, went to the house of 
the defendant. I am speaking to judges, but I disdain 
the paltry insult it would be to them, were I to appeal 
to any wretched sympathy of situation. I feel I am 
above it. I know the bench is above it. But I know, 
too, that there are ranks, and degrees, and decorums to 
be observed ; and if I had a harsh communication to 
make to a venerable judge, and a similar one to his 
crier, I should certainly address them inn very different 
language indeed. A judge of the land, a man not 
young, of infirm health, has the sanctuary of his habi- 
tation broken open by these two persons, who set out 
with him for the coast, to drag him from his country, 
to hurry him to a strange land by the " most direct 



98 ELOQUENCE OF THE BAR. 

way !" till the king's writ stopt the malefactors, 
and left the subject of the king a waif dropt in the 
pursuit. 

Is it for nothing, my lords, I say this ? Is it without 
intention I state the facts in this way ? It is with every 
intention. It is the duty of the public advocate not so 
to put forward the object of public attention, as that the 
skeleton only shall appear, without flesh, or feature, or 
complexion. I mean every thing that ought to be 
meant in a court of justice. I mean not only that this 
execrable attempt shall be intelligible to the court as a 
matter of law, but shall be understood by the world as 
an act of state. If advocates had always the honesty 
and the courage, upon occasions like this, to despise all 
personal considerations, and to think of no consequence 
but what may result to the public from the faithful dis- 
charge of their sacred trust, these phrenetic projects of 
power, these atrocious aggressions on the liberty and 
happiness of men, would not be so often attempted ; for, 
though a certain class of delinquents may be screened 
from punishment, they cannot be protected from hatred 
and derision. The great tribunal of reputation will 
pass its inexorable sentence upon their crimes, their 
follies, or their incompetency; they r will sink them- 
selves under the consciousness of their situation ; they 
will feel the operation of an acid so neutralizing the 
malignity of their natures, as to make them at least 
harmless, if it cannot make them honest. Nor is there 
any thing of risk in the conduct I recommend. If the 
fire be hot, or the window cold, turn not your back to 
either ; turn your face. So, if you are obliged to ar- 
raign the acts of those in high station, approach them 
not with malice, nor favor, nor fear. Kemember, that 
it is the condition of guilt to tremble, and of honesty to, 
be bold ; remember that your false fear can only give 
them false courage : — that while you nobly avow the 
cause of truth, you will find her shield an impenetrable 
protection ; and that no attack can be either hazardous 
or inefficient, if it be just and resolute.— If Nathan ha4 
not fortified himself in the boldness and dire.ctn.ess oi 



I 






ELOQUENCE OF THE BAR. 99 

his charge, he might have been hanged for the malice 
of his parable. 

It is, my lords, in this temper of mind, befitting eve- 
ry advocate who is worthy of the name, deeply and 
modestly sensible of his duty, and proud of his privi- 
lege, equally exalted above the meanness of tempo- 
rizing or of offending, most averse from the unnecessa- 
ry infliction of pain upon any man or men whatsoever, 
that I now address you on a question, the most vitally 
connected with the liberty and well being of every 
man within the limits of the British empire ; which, if 
decided one way, he may be a freeman ; which, if de* 
cided the other, he must be a slave. It is not the Irish 
nation only that is involved in this question. Every 
member of the three realms is equally embarked ; and 
would to God all England could listen to what passes 
here this day ! they would regard us with more sym- 
pathy and respect, when the proudest Briton saw that 
his liberty was defended in what he would call a pro- 
vincial court, and by a provincial advocate. The ab- 
stract and general question for your consideration is 
this : my lord Ellenborough has signed with his own 
hand a warrant, which has been endorsed by Mr. Bell,, 
an Irish justice, for seizing the person of Mr. Justice 
Johnson in Ireland, for conveying his person by the 
most direct way, in such manner as these bailiffs may 
choose, across the sea, and afterwards to the city of 
Westminster, to take his trial for an alleged libel 
against the persons entrusted with the government 
of Ireland ; and to take that trial in a country where 
the supposed offender did not live at the time of the 
supposed offence, nor since a period of at least eigh- 
teen months previous thereto, has ever resided ; where 
the subject of his accusation is perfectly unknown; where 
the conduct of his prosecutors, which has been the 
subject of the supposed libel, is equally unknown; 
where he has not the power of compelling the attend- 
ance of a single witness for his defence. Under that 
warrant he has been dragged from his family ; under 
that warrant he was on his way to the water's edge: 



100 ELOQUENCE OF THE BAR. 

his transportation has been interrupted by the writ be- 
fore you, and upon the return of that writ arises the 
question upon which you are to decide, the legality or 
illegality of so transporting him for the purpose of trial. 



Mr. Curran, after citing various cases in favor of 
his client, concluded a long and eloquent speech thus: 

Even if it should be my client's fate to be surren- 
dered to his keepers — to be torn from his family — 
to have his obsequies performed by torch-light — to be 
carried to a foreign land, and to a strange tribunal, 
where no witness can attest his innocence, where no 
voice that he ever heard can be raised in his defence, 
where he must stand mute, not of his own malice, but 
the malice of his enemies — yes even so, I see nothing 
for him to fear — that all-gracious Being that shields 
the feeble from the oppressor, will fill his heart with 
hope, and confidence, and courage; his sufferings will 
be his armour, and his weakness will be his strength; 
he will find himself in the hands of a brave, a just, 
and a generous nation — he will find that the bright ex- 
amples of her Eussels and her Sidneys have not been 
lost to her children; they will behold him with sympa- 
thy and respect, and his persecutors with shame and 
abhorrence; they will feel too, that what is then his 
situation, may to-morrow be their own — but their first 
tear will be shed for him, and the second only for 
themselves — their hearts will melt in his acquittal ; they 
will convey him kindly and fondly to their shore ; and 
he will return in triumph to his country ; to the thres- 
hold of his sacred home, and to the weeping welcome 
of his delighted family ; he will find that the darkness 
of a dreary and a lingering night hath at length pass- 
ed away, and that joy cometh in the morning. No, 
my lords, I have no fear for the ultimate safety of my 
client. Even in these very acts of brutal violence that 
have been committed against him, do I hail the flattering 
hope of final advantage to him — and not only of final 



ELOQUENCE OF THE BAR. 101 

advantage to him, but of better days and more prospe- 
rous fortune for this afflicted country — that country of 
which I have so often abandoned all hope, and which I 
have been so often determined to quit for ever. 

Scspe vale dicto mult a sum deinde locutus, 
Et quasi discedens oscula summa dabam> 
Indulgens ani?no, pes tardus erat. 

But I am reclaimed from that infidel despair — I am 
satisfied that while a man is suffered to live, it is an in- 
timation from Providence that he has some duty to 
discharge, which it is mean and criminal to decline ; 
had I been guilty of that ignominious flight, and gone 
to pine in the obscurity of some distant retreat, even in 
that grave I should have been haunted by those pas- 
sions by which my life had been agitated — 

Qucb cura vivos eadem sequitur tellure repostos. 

And, if the transactions of this day had reached me, 1 
feel how my heart would have been agonized by 
the shame of the desertion ; nor would my sufferings 
have been mitigated by a sense of the feebleness of 
that aid, or the smallness of that service, which I could 
render or withdraw. They would have been aggrava- 
ted by the consciousness that however feeble or worth- 
less they were, I should not have dared to thieve them 
from my country. I have repented — I have staid — and 
I am at once rebuked and rewarded by the happier 
hopes that I now entertain. In the anxious sympathy 
of the public — in the anxious sympathy of my learned 
brethren, do I catch the happy presage of a brighter 
fate for Ireland. They see, that within these sacred 
walls, the cause of liberty and of man may be plead- 
ed with boldness, and heard with favor. I am satisfied 
they will never forget the great trust, of which they 
alone are now the remaining depositaries. While they 
continue to cultivate a sound and literate philosophy — 
a mild and tolerating Christianity — and to make ^ti& 

9* 



102 ELOQUENCE OF THE BAB. 

the sources of a just and liberal, and constitutional 
jurisprudence. I see every thing for us to hope ; into 
their hands, therefore, with the most affectionate con- 
fidence in their virtue, do I commit these precious hopes. 
Even I may live long enough yet to see the approach- 
ing completion, if not the perfect accomplishment of 
them. Pleased shall I then resign the scene to fitter 
actors — pleased shall I lay down my wearied head to 
rest, and say, " Lord, now lettest thou thy servant de- 
part in peace, according to thy word, for mine eyes 
have seen thy salvation." 



FINERTY'S TRIAL. 

Let me ask you whether you know of any language 
which could have adequately described the idea of mer- 
cy denied where it ought to have been granted, or of 
any phrase vigorous enough to convey the indignation 
which an honest man would have felt upon such a sub- 
ject? Let me beg of you for a moment to suppose 
that any one of you had been the writer of this very 
severe expostulation with the viceroy, and that you had 
been the witness of the whole progress of this never 
to be forgotten catastrophe. Let me suppose that you 
had known the charge upon which Mr. Orr was appre- 
hended, the charge of abjuring that bigotry which 
had torn and disgraced his country, of pledging him- 
self to restore the people of his country to their place 
in the constitution, and of binding himself never to be 
the betrayer of his fellow-laborers in that enterprise ; 
that you had seen him upon that charge removed from 
his industry and confined in a jail; that through the 
slow and lingering progress of twelve tedious months, 
you had seen him confined in a # dungeon, shut out from 
the common use of air and of his own limbs ; that day 
after day you had marked the unhappy captive, cheer- 
ed by no sound but the cries of his family, or the clank- 
ing of his chains ; that you had seen him at last 
brought to his trial ; that you had seen the vile and 



ELOQUENCE OF THE BAft. 103 

perjured informer deposing against his life; that you 
had seen the drunken, and worn out and terrified jury 
give in a verdict of death ; that you had seen the same 
jury, when their returning sobriety had brought back 
their consciences, prostrate themselves before the hu- 
manity of the bench, and pray that the mercy of the 
crown might save their characters from the reproach 
of an involuntary crime, their consciences from the tor- 
ture of eternal self-condemnation, and their souls from 
the indelible stain of innocent blood. 

Let me suppose that you had seen the respite given, 
and that contrite and honest recommendation transmit- 
ted to that seat where mercy was presumed to dwell; 
that new, and before unheard of, crimes are discovered 
against the informer ; that the royal mercy seems to 
relent, and that a new respite is sent to the prisoner; 
that time is taken, as the learned counsel for the crown 
has expressed it, to see whether mercy could he extend- 
ed or not ! — that after that period of lingering delibe- 
ration passed, a third respite is transmitted ; that the un- 
happy captive himself feels the cheering hope of being 
restored to a family that he had adored, to a character 
that he had never stained, and to a country that he had 
ever loved ; that you had seen his wife and children 
upon their knees, giving those tears to gratitude, which 
their locked and frozen hearts could not give to anguish 
and despair, and imploring the blessings of Eternal 
Providence upon his head, who had graciously spared 
the father, and restored him to his children ; that you 
had seen the olive branch sent into his little ark, but 
no sign that the waters had subsided — " Alas ! nor 
wife, nor children more shall he behold, nor friends, 
nor sacred home !" No seraph mercy unbars his dun- 
geon, and leads him forth to light and life, but the 
minister of death hurries him to the scene of suffering 
and of shame ; where, unmoved by the hostile array 
of artillery and armed men collected together, to se- 
cure or to insult, or to disturb him, he dies with a 
solemn declaration of his innocence, and utters his last 
breath in a prayer for the liberty of his country ! Let 



104 ELOQUENCE OF THE BAK. 

me now ask you, if any of you had addressed the pub- 
lic ear upon so foul and monstrous a subject, in what 
language would you have conveyed the feelings of hor- 
ror and indignation ? Would you have stooped to the 
meanness of qualified complaint ? Would you have 
been mean enough — but I entreat your forgiveness — I 
do not think meanly of you ; had I thought so meanly 
of you, I could not suffer my mind to commune with 
you as it has done ; had I thought you that base and 
vile instrument, attuned by hope and by fear into dis- 
cord and falsehood, from whose vulgar string no groan 
of suffering could vibrate, no voice of integrity or honor 
could speak ; let me honestly tell you I should have 
scorned to fling my hand across it, I should have 
left it to a fitter minstrel; if I do not therefore grossly 
err in my opinion of you, I could use no language up- 
on such a subject as this, that must not lag behind 
the rapidity of your feelings, and that would not dis- 
grace those feelings, if it attempted to describe them. 
Gentlemen, I am not unconscious that the learned 
counsel for the crown seemed to address you with a 
confidence of a very different kind ; he seemed to expect 
a kind and respectful sympathy from you with the 
feelings of the castle, and the griefs of chided authority. 
Perhaps, gentlemen, he may know you better than I do; 
if he do, he has spoken to you as he ought ; he has 
been right in telling you, that if the reprobation of this 
writer is weak, it is because his genius could not make 
it stronger ; he has been right in telling you that his 
language has not been braided and festooned as ele- 
gantly as it might ; that he has not pinched the misera- 
ble plaits of his phraseology, nor placed his patches and 
feathers with that correctness of millinery which be- 
came so exalted a person. If you agree with him, gen- 
tlemen of the jury, if you think that the man who ven- 
tures at the hazard of his own life, to rescue from the 
deep, " the drowned honour of his country," must not 
presume upon the guilty familiarity of plucking it up 
by the locks, I have no more to say — do a courteous 
thing — upright and honest jurors, find a civil and 



ELOQUENCE OF THE BAB 106 

obliging verdict against the printer ! — And when you 
have done so, march through the ranks of your fellow- 
citizens to your own homes, and hear their looks as ye 
pass along : retire to the bosoms of you? families and 
your children,, and when you are presiding over the 
morality of the parental board, tell those infants who 
are to be the future men of Ireland, the history of this 
day. Form their young minds by your precepts, and 
confirm those precepts by your own example ; teach 
them how discreetly allegiance may be perjured on the 
table, or loyalty be forsworn in the jury-box — and when 
you have done so,, tell them the story of Orr ; tell 
them of his captivity, of has children, of his hopes, of 
his disappointments, of his courage, and of his death ; 
and when you find your little hearers hanging upon 
your lips, when you see their eyes overflow with sympa- 
thy and sorrow, and their young hearts bursting with 
the pangs of anticipated orphanage, tell them, that yqit 
had the boldness, and the injustice, to stigmatize the 
man who had dared to publish the transaction ! 



Merciful God ! what is the state of Ireland, and 
where shall you find the wretched inhabitant of this 
land? You may find him perhaps in a jail, the only 
place of security, I had almost said of ordinary habita- 
tion ; you may see him flying by the conflagration of 
his own dwelling ; or you may find his bones- bleaching 
on the green fields of his country ; or he may be found 
tossing upon the surface of the ocean, and mingling 
his groans with those tempests, less savage than his 
persecutors, that drift him to a returnless distance from 
his family and his home. And yet, with these facts 
ringing in the ears, and staring in the face of the 
prosecutor, you are called upon to say, on your oaths, 
that these facts do not exist ! You are called upon, in 
defiance of shame, of truth, of honor, to deny the suf- 
ferings under which you groan, and to flatter the perse-* 
cation which tramples you under foot I 



106 ELOQUENCE OF THE BAB. 

But the learned gentleman is farther pleased to say, 
that the traverser has charged the government with 
the encouragement of informers. This, gentlemen, is 
another small fact that you are to deny at the hazard of 
your souls, and upon the solemnity of your oaths. You 
are upon your oaths to say to the sister country, that 
the government of Ireland uses no such ahominable 
instruments of destruction as informers. Let me ask 
you honestly, what do you feel, when in my hearing, 
when in the face of this audience, you are called upon 
to give a verdict that every man of us, and every man 
of you, know by the testimony of your own eyes to be 
utterly and absolutely false ? I speak not now of the 
public proclamation of informers, with a promise of 
secrecy and of extravagant reward ; I speak not of the 
fate of those horrid wretches who have been so often 
transferred from the table to the dock, and from the 
dock to the pillory ; I speak of what your own eyes 
have seen day after day during the course of this com- 
mission, from the box where you are now sitting ; the 
number of horrid miscreants, who avowed upon their 
oaths, that they had come from the very seat of govern- 
ment—from the castle where they had been worked 
upon by the fear of death and the hopes of compensa- 
tion, to give evidence against their fellows, that the 
mild and wholesome councils of this government are 
holden over these catacombs of living death, where the 
wretch that is buried a man, lies till his heart has time 
to fester and dissolve, and is then dug up a witness. 

Is this fancy, or is it fact ? Have you not seen him 
after his resurrection from that tomb, after having been 
dug out of the region of death and corruption, make his 
appearance upon the table, the living image of life and 
of death, and the supreme arbiter of both? Have you 
not marked when he entered, how the stormy wave of 
the multitude retired at his approach ? Have you not 
marked how the human heart bowed to the supremacy 
of his power, in the undissembled homage of deferential 
horror ? How his glance, like the lightning of heaven, 
•^emed to rive the body of the accused, and mark it for 



ELOQUENCE OF THE BAR. 107 

the grave, while his voice warned the devoted wretch 
of wo?e and death ; a death which no innocence can 
escape, no art elude, no force resist, no antidote prevent. 
There was an antidote — a juror's oath — but even that 
adamantine chain, that bound the integrity of man to 
the throne of Eternal Justice, is solved and melted in 
the breath that issues from the informer's mouth — con- 
science swings from her mooring, and the appalled and 
affrighted juror, consults his own safety in the surrender 
of the victim. 



ROWAN'S TRIAL. 

Gentlemen of the Jury — When I consider the pe- 
riod at which this prosecution is brought forward ; w r hen 
I behold the extraordinary safeguard of armed soldiers 
resorted to, no doubt for the preservation of peace and 
order : when I catch, as I cannot but do, the throb of 
public anxiety, w T hich beats from one end to the other 
of this hall; when I reflect upon what may be the 
fate of a man of the most beloved personal character, 
of one of the most respected families of our country ; 
himself the only individual of that family, I may almost 
say of that country, who can look to that possible fate 
with unconcern ? Feeling as I do all these impressions, 
it is in the honest simplicity of my heart 1 speak, when 
I say, that I never rose in a court of justice with so much 
embarrassment, as upon this occasion. 

If, gentlemen, I could entertain a hope of finding re- 
fuge for the disconcertion of my mind, in the perfect 
composure of yours ; if I could suppose that those awful 
vicissitudes of human events, w r hich have been stated 
or alluded to, could leave your judgments undisturbed, 
and your hearts at ease, I know I should form a most 
erroneous opinion of your character : I entertain no such 
chimerical hopes ; I form no such unworthy opinions ; 
I expect not that your hearts can be more at ease than 
my own ; I have no right to expect it ; but I have a right 
to call upon you, in the name of your country, in the 



108 ELOQUENCE OF THE BAH. 

name of the living God, of whose eternal justice you are 
now administering that portion which dwells with us on. 
this side of the grave, to discharge your breasts, as far 
as you are able, of every bias of prejudice or passion ; 
that, if my client be guilty of the offence charged upon 
him, you may give tranquillity to the public by a firm 
verdict of conviction; or if he be innocent, by as firm 
a verdict of acquittal; and that you will do this in de- 
fiance of the paltry artifices and senseless clamors that 
have been resorted to, in order to bring him to his trial 
with anticipated conviction. 



Gentlemen, the representation of your people is the 

vital principle of their political existence ; without it 

they are dead, or they live only to servitude ; without 

it there are two estates acting upon and against the 

hird, instead of acting in co-operation with it ; without 

if the people be oppressed by their judges, where is 
vhe tribunal to which their judges can be amenable ? 
Without it, if they be trampled upon, and plundered by 
a minister, where is the tribunal to which the offender 
shall bag amenable? Without it, where is the ear to 
hear, or the heart to feel, or the hand to redress their 
sufferings ? Shall they be found, let me ask you, in 
the accursed bands of imps and minions that bask in 
their disgrace, and fatten upon their spoils, and flourish 
upon their ruin ? But let me not put this to you as a 
merely speculative question. It is a plain question of 
fact : rely upon it, physical man is every where the same ; 
it is only the various operation of moral causes that 
gives variety to the social or individual character and 
condition. How otherwise happens it, that modern sla- 
very looks quietly at the despot, on the very spot where 
Leonidas expired ? The answer is, Sparta has not 
changed her climate, but she has lost that government, 
which her liberty could not survive. 

I call you, therefore, to the plain question of fact. 
This paper recommends a reform in parliament ; I put 



ELOQUENCE OF THE BAR. 109 

tliat question to your consciences ; do you think it needs 
that reform ? I put it boldly and fairly to you, do you 
think the people of Ireland are represented as they 
ought to be ? — Do you hesitate for an answer ? If you 
do, let me remind you, that until the last year three mil- 
lions of your countrymen have, by the express letter of the 
law, been excluded from the reality of actual, and even 
from the phantom of virtual representation. Shall we 
then be told that this is only the affirmation of a wick- 
ed and seditious incendiary ? If you do not feel the 
mockery of such a charge, look at your country ; in what 
state do you find it ? Is it in a state of tranquillity and 
general satisfaction ? These are traces by which good 
is ever tobe distinguished from bad government. With- 
out any very minute inquiry or speculative refinement, 
do you feel that a veneration for the law, a pious and 
humble attachment to the constitution, form the politi- 
cal morality of your people ? Do you find that comfort 
and competency among your people, which are always 
to be found where a government is mild and moderate; 
where taxes are imposed by a body who have an inter- 
est in treating the poorer orders with compassion, and 
preventing the weight of taxation from pressing sore 
upon them? 

Gentlemen, I mean not to impeach the state of your 
representation; I am not saying that it is defective, or 
that it ought to be altered or amended, nor is this a 
place for me to say, whether I think that three millions 
of the inhabitants of a country, whose whole number h 
Out four, ought to be admitted to any efficient situation 
,n the state. It may be said, and truly, that these are 
lot questions for either of us directly to decide ; but you 
cannot refuse them some passing consideration at least; 
when you remember that on this subject the real ques- 
tion for your decision is., whether the allegation of a de- 
fect in your constitution is so utterly unfounded and 
false, that you can ascribe it only to the malice and per- 
verseness of a wicked mind, and not to the innocent 
mistake of an ordinary understanding ; — whether it may 
not be mistake ; whether it can be only sedition. 

10 



110 ELOQUENCE OF THE BAR. 

And here, gentlemen, I own I cannot but regret, that 
one of our countrymen should be criminally pursued for 
asserting to the necessity of a reform, at the very mo- 
ment when that necessity seems admitted by the parlia- 
ment itself; that this unhappy reform shall at the same 
moment be a subject of legislative discussion, and cri- 
minal prosecution. Far am I from imputing any sinis- 
ter design to the virtue or wisdom of our government, 
but who can avoid feeling the deplorable impression 
that must be made on the public mind, when the de- 
mand for that reform is answered by a criminal infor- 
mation ? 

I am the more forcibly impressed by this considera- 
tion, when I reflect that when this information was first 
put upon the file, the subject was transiently mentioned 
in the House of Commons. Some circumstances re- 
tarded the progress of the inquiry there, and the pro- 
gress of the information was equally retarded here. 
The first day of this session you all know, that subject 
was again brought forward in the House of Commons, 
and as if they had slept together, this prosecution was 
also revived in the Court of Kings's Bench ; and that 
before a jury, taken from a pannel partly composed 
of those very members of parliament, who, in the House 
of Commons, must debate upon this subject as a mea- 
sure of public advantage, which they are here called 
upon to consider as a public crime. 

This paper, gentlemen, insists upon the necessity of 
emancipating the Catholics of Ireland, and that is- charg- 
ed as a part of the libel. * If they had kept this prose- 
cution impending for another year, how much would 
remain for a jury to decide upon, I should be at a loss 
to discover. It seems as if the progress of public re- 
formation was eating away the ground of the prosecu- 
tion. Since the commencement of the prosecution, 
this part of the libel has unluckily received the sanction 
of the Legislature. In that interval, our Catholic 
brethren have obtained that admission, which it seems 
it was a libel to propose : in what way to account for 
this, I am really at a loss. Have any alarms been oc- 



ELOQUENCE OF THE BAR. Ill 

easioned by the emancipation of our Catholic brethren? 
Has the bigoted malignity of any individuals been 
crushed ? Or, has the stability of the government, or 
has that of the country been awakened ? Or, is one 
million of subjects stronger than three millions? Do 
you think the benefit they received should be poisoned 
by the stings of vengeance ? If you think so, you 
must say to them, " you have demanded your emanci- 
pation, and you have got it ; but we abhor your persons, 
we are outraged at your success ; and we will stigma- 
tize, by a criminal prosecution, the relief which you 
have obtained from the voice of your country." I ask 
you, gentlemen, do you think, as honest men, anxious 
for the public tranquillity, conscious that there are wounds 
not yet completely cicatrized, that you ought to speak 
this language at this time, to men who are too much 
disposed to think that in this very emancipation they 
have been saved from their own Parliament by the hu- 
manity of their Sovereign? Or, do you wish to pre- 
pare them for the revocation of these improvident con- 
cessions ? Do you think it wise or humane, at this mo- 
ment, to insult them, by sticking up in a pillory the 
man who dared to stand forth their advocate ? I put it 
to your oaths, do you think that a blessing of that kind,, 
that a victory obtained by justice over bigotry and op- 
pression, should have a stigma cast upon it by an igno- 
minious sentence upon men bold and honest enough to 
propose that measure ; to propose the redeeming of re- 
ligion from the abuses of the church — the reclaiming 
of three millions of men from bondage, and giving lib- 
erty to all who had a right to demand it — giving, I say, 
in the so much censured words of this paper, " Univer- 
sal Emancipation !" I speak in the spirit of the Brit- 
ish Law, which makes liberty commensurate with, and 
inseparable from, the British soil — which proclaims, 
even to the stranger and the sojourner, the moment he 
sets his foot upon British earth, that the ground on which 
he treads is holy, and consecrated by the genius of 
Universal Emancipation. No matter in what lan- 
guage his doom may have been pronounced ; no matter 



112 ELOQUENCE OF THE BAR. 

what complexion incompatible with freedom, an Indian 
or an African sun may have burnt upon him ; no mat- 
ter in what disastrous battle his liberty may have been 
cloven down ; no matter with what solemnities he may 
have been devoted upon the altar of slavery ; the first 
moment he touches the sacred soil of Britain, the altai 
and the god sink together in the dust ; his soul walks 
abroad in her own majesty ; his body swells beyond the 
measure of his chains that burst from around him, and 
he stands redeemed, regenerated, and disenthralled, by 
the irresistible Genius of Universal Emancipation f 

[Here Mr. Curran was interrupted by a sudden burst of applause 
from the court and hall. After some time, silence was restored 
by the authority of Lord Clonmell, who acknowledged the plea- 
sure which he himself felt at the briliiant display of professional 
talents, but disapproved of any intemperate expressions of applause 
in a Court of Justice.] 

Mr. Curran then proceeded. Gentlemen, I am not 
such a fool as to ascribe any effusion of this sort to any 
merit of mine. 

It is the mighty theme, and not the inconsiderable 
advocate, that can excite interest in the hearer. What 
you hear is but the testimony which nature bears to her 
own character ; it is the effusion of her gratitude to that 
Power which stamps that character upon her. 



Gentlemen, I am glad that this question has not been 
brought forward earlier; I rejoice for the sake of the 
court, of the jury, and of the public repose, that this 
question has not been brought forward till now. In 
Great Britain, analogous circumstances have taken place. 
At the commencement of that unfortunate war which 
has deluged Europe with blood, the spirit of the English 
people was tremblingly alive to the terror of French 
principles ; at that moment of general paroxysm, to ac- 
cuse was to convict. The danger loomed larger to the 
public; eye, from the misty medium through which it 



ELOQUENCE OF THE BAK. 113 

was surveyed. We measure inaccessible heights 
by the shadows which they project, where the low- 
ness and the distance of the light form the length of 
the shade. 

There is a sort of aspiring and adventurous credulity, 
which disdains assenting to obvious truths, and delights 
in catching at the improbability of circumstances, as its 
best ground of faith. To what other cause, gentlemen, 
can you ascribe that in the wise, the reflecting, and 
the philosophic nation of Great Britain, a printer 
has been gravely found guilty of a libel, for pub- 
lishing those resolutions to which the present minister 
of that kingdom had actually subscribed his name ? To 
what other cause can you ascribe, what in my mind, is 
still more astonishing, in such a country as Scotland, a 
nation cast in the happy medium between the spiritless 
acquiescence of submissive poverty, and the sturdy cre- 
dulity of pampered wealth ; cool and ardent, adventur- 
ous and persevering ; winging her eagle flight against 
the blaze of every science, with an eye that never 
winks, and a wing that never tires ; crowned as she is 
with the spoils of every art, and decked with the wreath 
of every muse ; from the deep and scrutinizing research- 
es of her Humes, to the sweet and simple, but not less 
sublime and pathetic morality of her Burns — how from 
the bosom of a country like that, genius, and character^ 
and talents, should be banished to a distant barbarous 
soil ; # condemned to pine under the horrid communion 
of vulgar vice and base born profligacy, for twice the 
period that ordinary calculation gives to the continuance 
of human life ? 



1 cannot, however, avoid adverting to a circumstance; 
that distinguishes the case of Mr. Rowan from that of 
Mr. Muir. 

* Mr. Curran alludes to the sentence of transportation passed in* 
Scotland upon Mr. Muir, &c. &c. 

10* 



114 ELOQUENCE OF THE BAR. 

The severer law of Scotland, it seems, and happy foT 
them that it should, enables them to remove from their 
sight the victim of their infatuation. The more mer- 
ciful spirit of our law deprives you of that consolation ; 
his sufferings must remain forever before our eyes, a 
continual call upon your shame and your remorse. But 
those sufferings will do more ; they will not rest satis- 
fied with your unavailing contrition, they will challenge 
the great and paramount inquest of society : the man 
will be weighed against the charge, the witness and 
the sentence ; and impartial justice will demand, why 
has an Irish jury done this deed ? The moment he 
ceases to be regarded as a criminal, he becomes of 
necessity an accuser ; and let me ask you, what can 
your most zealous defenders be prepared to answer to 
such a charge ? When your sentence shall have sent 
him forth to that stage, which guilt alone can render 
infamous ; let me tell you, he will not be like a little 
statue upon a mighty pedestal, diminishing by eleva- 
tion ; but he will stand a striking and imposing object 
upon a monument, which, if it do not, and it cannot, 
record the atrocity of his crime, must record the atroci- 
ty of his conviction. Upon this subject, therefore, 
credit me when I say, that I am still more anxious for 
you, than I can possibly be for him. I cannot but feel 
the peculiarity of your situation. Not the jury of his 
own choice, which the law of England allows, but 
which ours refuses : collected in that box by a person, 
certainly no friend to Mr. Rowan, certainly not very 
deeply interested in giving him a very impartial jury. 
Feeling this, as I am persuaded you do, you cannot be 
surprised, however you maybe distressed at the mourn- 
ful presage, with which an anxious public is led to fear 
the worst from your possible determination. But I will 
not, for the justice and honor of our common country, 
suffer my mind to be borne away by such melancholy 
anticipation. I will not relinquish the confidence that 
this day will be the period of his sufferings ; and how- 
ever mercilessly he has been hitherto pursued, that your 
vprrlict will send him home to the arms of his familv f 



ELOQUENCE OF THE BAR. 115 

and the wishes of his country. But if, which heaven for- 
bid, it hath still been unfortunately determined, that be- 
cause he has not bent to power and authority, because he 
would not bow down before the golden calf and worship 
it, he is to be bound and cast into the furnace; I do trust in 
God, that there is a redeeming spirit in the constitution, 
which will be seen to walk with the sufferer through 
the flames, and to preserve him unhurt by the confla- 
gration. 

[Upon the conclusion of this speech, Mr. Curran was again for 
many minutes loudly applauded by the auditors; and upon leaving 
the court was drawn home by the populace, who took the horses 
from his carriage.] 



ELOQUENCE OF POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. 



SPEECH OF PATRICK HENRY, 

Before the Convention of Delegates for the several counr 
ties and corporations of Virginia, on Thursday, the 
23rd of March, 1775. 

Mr. HENRY rose with a majesty unusual to him in 
an exordium, and with all that self-possession by which 
he was so invariably distinguished. " No man," he said, 
"thought more highly than he did of the patriotism, 
as well as of the abilities, of the very worthy gentleman 
who had just addressed the house. But different men 
often saw the same subject in different lights; and, there- 
fore, he hoped it would not be thought disrespectful to 
those gentlemen, if, entertaining as he did, opinions of 
a character very opposite to theirs, he should speak 
forth his sentiments freely, and without reserve. This 
was no time for ceremony. The question before the 
house was one of awful moment to this country. — For 
his own part, he considered it nothing less than a ques- 
tion of freedom or slavery. And in proportion to the 
magnitude of the subject, ought to be the freedom of the 
debate. It was only in this way that they could hope 
to arrive at truth, and fulfil the great responsibility 
which they held to God and to their country. Should he 
keep back his opinions at such a time, through fear of 
giving offence, he should consider himself as guilty of 
treason towards his country, and of an act of disloyal- 
ty toward the Majesty of Heaven, which he revered 
above all earthly kings. 



POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. 11? 

11 Mr. President, it is natural to man to indulge in 
the illusions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes 
against a painful truth — and listen to the song of that 
syren, till she transform us into beasts. Is this the 
part of wise men, engaged in a great and ardent strug- 
gle for liberty ? Were we disposed to be of the num- 
ber of those, who having eyes, see not T and having 
ears, hear not, the things which so nearly concern 
their temporal salvation ? — For his part, whatever an- 
guish of spirit it might cost, he was walling to know the 
whole truth ; to know the worst, and to provide for it. 

" He had but one lamp by which his feet were 
guided ; and that was the lamp of experience. He 
knew of no way of judging of the future but by the 
past. And judging by the past, he wished to know 
what there had been in the conduct of the British min- 
istry for the last ten years, to justify those hopes with 
which gentlemen had been pleased to solace them- 
selves and the house ? Is it that insidious smile with 
which our petition has been lately received ? Trust it 
not, sir ; it will prove a snare to your feet. Suffer not 
yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. Ask yourselves 
how this gracious reception of our petition comports 
with those warlike preparations which cover our waters 
and darken oar land. Are fleets and armies necessary 
to a work of love and reconciliation ? Have we shown 
ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled, that force must 
be called in to win back our love ? Let us not deceive 
ourselves, sir. These are the implements of war and 
subjugation — the last arguments to which kings resort. 
I ask, gentlemen, sir, what means this martial array, if 
its purpose be not to force us to submission ? Can 
gentlemen assign any other possible motive for it ? Has 
Great Britain any enemy in this quarter of the w T orld, 
to call for all this accumulation of navies and armies ? 
No, sir, she has none. They are meant for us : they 
can be meant for no other. They are sent over to bind 
and rivet upon us those chains, which the British min- 
istry have been so long forging. And what have we 
to oppose to them ? Shall we try argument ? Sir, we 



118 ELOQUENCE OF 

have been trying that for the last ten years. Have we 
any thing new to offer upon the subject? Nothing. 
We have held the subject up in every light of which 
it is capable ; but it has been all in vain. Shall we 
resort to entreaty and humble supplication ? What 
terms shall we find, which have not been already ex- 
hausted ? Let us not, I beseech you, deceive ourselves 
longer. Sir, we have done every thing that could be 
done, to avert the storm which is now coming on. We 
have petitioned — we have remonstrated — we have sup- 
plicated, we have prostrated ourselves before the throne, 
and have implored its interposition to arrest the tyran- 
nical hands of the ministry and parliament. Our peti- 
tions have been slighted ; our remonstrances have pro- 
duced additional violence and insult ; our supplications 
have been disregarded; and we have been spurned, 
with contempt, from the foot of the throne. In vain, 
after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of 
peace and reconciliation. There is no longer any room 
for hope. If we wish to be free — if we mean to pre- 
serve inviolate those inestimable privileges for which 
we have been so long contending — if we mean not 
basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we have 
been so long engaged, and which we have pledged 
ourselves never to abandon, until the glorious object of 
our contest shall be obtained — we must fight ! — I repeat 
it, sir, we must fight ! ! An appeal to arms and to the 
God of Hosts, is all that is left us !" 

"They tell us, sir, that we are weak — unable to 
cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall 
we be stronger ? Will it be the next week, or the next 
year ? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and 
when a British guard shall be stationed in every house ? 
Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction ? 
Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance by 
lying supinely on our backs, and hugging the delu- 
sive phantom of hope, until our enemies shall have 
bound us hand and foot ? Sir, we are not weak, if we 
make a proper use of those means which the God of 
nature hath placed in our power. Three millions of 



POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. 119 

people, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such 
a country as that which we possess, are invincible by 
any force which our enemy can send against us. Be- 
sides, sir, we shall not fight our battles alone. There 
is a just God who presides over the destinies of nations; 
and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. 
The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone ; it is to the 
vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have 
no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is 
now too late to retire from the contest. There is no 
retreat, but in submission and slavery ! Our chains are 
forged. Their clanking may be heard on the plains of 
Boston ! The war is inevitable — and let it come ! ! I 
repeat it, sir, let it come ! ! ! 

" It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentle- 
men may cry peace, peace — but there is no peace. 
The war is actually begun ! The next gale that sweeps 
from the north will bring to our ears the clash of re- 
sounding arms ! Our brethren are already in the field ! 
Why stand we here idle ? What is it that gentlemen 
wish ? What would they have ? Is life so dear, or peace 
so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and 
slavery ? Forbid it, Almighty God ! — I know not what 
course others may take ; but as for me," cried 
he, with both his arms extended aloft, his brows 
knit, every feature marked with the resolute pur- 
pose of his soul, and his voice swelled to its boldest 
note of exclamation — " give me liberty or give me 
death!" 

He took his seat. No murmur of applause was 
heard. The effect was too deep. After the trance of 
a moment, several members started from their seats. 
The cry, " to arms," seemed to quiver on every lip, 
and gleam from every eye ! Richard H. Lee arose and 
supported Mr. Henry, with his usual spirit and ele- 
gance. But his melody was lost amidst the agitation 
of that ocean, which the master spirit of the storm had 
lifted up on high. That supernatural voice still sounded 
in their ears, and shivered along their arteries. They 
heard, in every pause, the cry of liberty or death. They 



120 ELOQUENCE OF 

became impatient of speech — their souls 1 re on fire 
for action. 



DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENG w 

In Congress, July 4, 1776. By the repress Natives of 
the United States of America, in Congres assembled. 
When, in the course of human events, t becomes 
necessary for one people to dissolve the po' deal bands 
which have connected them with another and to as- 
sume among the powers of the earth, the separate and 
equal station to which the laws of nature and of nature's 
God entitle them, a decent respect for the opinions of 
mankind requires, that they should declare the causes 
which impel them to the separation. 

We hold these truths to be self-evident — that all men 
are created equal ; that they are endowed by their 
Creator with certain unalienable rights; that among 
these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. 
That, to secure these rights, governments are instituted 
among men, deriving their just powers from the consent 
of the governed ; that when any form of government 
becomes destructive of these ends, it is the right of the 
people to alter or to abolish it, and to institute a new 
government, laying its foundation on such principles, 
and organizing its powers in such form, as to them 
shall seem most likely to effect their safety and happi- 
ness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate, that governments 
long established, should not be changed for light and 
transient causes ; and accordingly all experience hath 
shown, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while 
evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abo- 
lishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But 
when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing 
invariably the same object, evinces a design to reduce 
them under absolute despotism, it is their right, it is 
their duty, to throw off such government, and to pro- 
ride new guards for their future security. Such has 



POPULAR ASSEMBLIES, 121 

been the patient sufferance of these colonies ; and such 
is now the necessity which constrains them to alter 
their former system of government. The history of 
the present king of Great Britian is a history of repeated 
injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the 
establishment of an absolute tyranny over these states. 
To prove this, let facts be submitted to a candid world. 

He has refused his assent to laws the most whole- 
some and necessary for the public good. 

He has forbidden his governors to pass laws of im- 
mediate and pressing importance, unless suspended in 
their operation, till his assent should be obtained ; and, 
when so suspended, he has utterly neglected to attend 
2o them, 

He has refused to pass other laws for the accommo- 
dation of large districts of people, unless those people 
would relinquish the right of representation in the leg- 
islature — a right inestimable to them, and formidable to 
tyrants only, 

He has called together legislative bodies, at places unu- 
sual, uncomfortable, and distant from the depository of 
their public records, for the sole purpose of fatiguing them 
into compliance with his measures. 

He has dissolved representatives' houses repeatedly, 
for opposing, with manly firmness, his invasions on the 
rights of the people. 

He has refused for a long time after such dissolutions, 
to cause others to be elected ; whereby the legislative 
powers, incapable of annihilation, have returned to the 
people at large, for their exercise ; the state remaining 
in the meantime, exposed to all the danger of invasion 
from without, and convulsions within. 

He has endeavoured to prevent the populating of 
these states : for that purpose obstructing the laws for 
naturalization of foreigners ; refusiug to pass others, to 
encourage their migration hither, and raising the con- 
ditions of new appropriations of lands. 

He has obstructed the administration of justice, by 
refusing his assent to laws for establishing judiciary 
powers, 

11 



122 ELOQUENCE OF 

He has made judges dependent on his will alone, for 
the tenure of their offices, and the amount and payment 
of their salaries. 

He has erected a multitude of offices, and sent here 
swarms of officers to harrass our people, and eat out 
their substance. 

He has kept among us in times of peace, standing 
armies, without the consent of our legislatures. 

He has affected to render the military independent 
of, and superior to, the civil power. 

He has combined with others, to subject us to a ju- 
risdiction, foreign to our constitution, and unacknow- 
ledged by our laws ; giving his assent to their acts of 
pretended legislation : 

For quartering large bodies of armed troops among 
us : 

For protecting them by a mock trial, from punish- 
ment for any murder they should commit on the inhabi- 
tants of these states : 

For cutting off our trade with all parts of the world : 

For imposing taxes on us without our consent : 

For depriving us, in many cases, of the benefits of 
trial by jury : 

For transporting us beyond seas, to be tried for pre- 
tended offences: 

For abolishing the free system of English law in a 
neighboring province, establishing therein an arbitra- 
ry government, and enlarging its boundaries so as to 
render it at once an example and fit instrument for in- 
troducing the same absolute rule into these colonies : 

For taking away our charters, abolishing our most 
valuable laws, and altering fundamentally the forms of 
our governments : 

For suspending our own legislatures, and declaring 
themselves invested with power, to legislate for us in 
all cases whatsoever : 

He has abdicated government here, by declaring ua 
out of his protection, and waging war against us* 

He has plundered our seas, ravaged our coasts, burnt 
our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people 



POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. 123 

He is, at this time, transporting large armies of for- 
eign mercenaries, to complete the works of death, deso- 
lation and tyranny, already begun, with circumstances 
of cruelty and perfidy, scarcely paralleled in the most 
barbarous ages, and totally unworthy the head of a civi- 
lized nation. 

He has constrained our fellow citizens, taken captive 
on the high seas, to bear arms against their country, to 
become the executioners of their friends and brethren, 
or to fall themselves by their hands. 

He has excited domestic insurrections amongst us 
and has endeavoured to bring on the inhabitants of ou; 
frontiers, the merciless Indian savages, whose knowi? 
rule of warfare is an undistinguished destruction of all 
ages, sexes, and conditions. 

In every stage of these oppressions, we have petition 
ed for redress, in the most humble terms : our petition* 
have been answered only by repeated injury. A prince 
whose character is thus marked, by every act which 
may define a tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free 
people. 

Nor have we been wanting in attention to our Brit* 
ish brethren. We have warned them, from time to 
time, of attempts made by their legislature, to extend 
an unwarrantable jurisdiction over us. We have re- 
minded them of the circumstances of our emigration 
and settlement here. We have appealed to their na- 
tive justice and magnanimity, and we have conjured 
them by the ties of our common kindred, to disavow 
these usurpations, which would inevitably interrupt our 
connexions and correspondence. They, too, have been 
deaf to the voice of justice and consanguinity. We 
must, therefore, acquiesce in the necessity, which de- 
nounces our separation, and hold them, as we hold the 
rest of mankind — enemies in war: — in peace, friends. 

We, therefore, the representatives of the United 
States of America, in general congress assembled, ap- 
pealing to the Supreme Judge of the world, for the rec- 
titude of our intentions, do, in the name and by the au- 
thority of the good people ol these colonies, solemnly 



124 



ELOQUENCE O? 



publish and declare, that these united colonies are, and 
of right ought to be y free and independent states ; that 
they are absolved from all allegiance to the British 
crown, and that all political connexion between them 
and the state of Great Britain, is and ought to be total- 
ly dissolved ; and that as free and independent states, 
they have full power to levy war, conclude peace, con- 
tract alliances, establish commerce and do all other acts 
and things which independent states may of right do* 
And for the support of this declaration, with a firm re- 
liance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mu- 
tually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes, and 
our sacred honour. 

Signed by order and in behalf of the Congress. 

JOHN HANCOCK, President, 
Attest. Charles Thompson, Secretary. 



New Hampshire. 
Josiah Bartlett, 
"William Whipple, 
Matthew Thornton. 
Massachusetts s-Bay. 
Samuel Adams, 
John Adams, 
Robert Treat Paine, 
Elbri i\ge Gerry. 

Rhode- Island, SfC. 
Stephen Hopkins, 
William Ellery. 

Connecticut, 
Roger Sherman, 
Samuel Huntington, 
William Williams, 
Oliver Wolcott. 

New -York. 
William Floyd, 
Philip Livingston, 
Francis Lewis, 
Lewis Morris. 

New -Jersey. 
Richard Stockton, 
John Witherspoon, 
Francis Hopkinson* 



John Hart, 
Abraham Clark. 

Pennsylvania. 
Robert Morris, 
Benjamin Rush, 
Benjamin Franklin, 
John Morton, 
George Clymer, 
James Wilson, 
George Ross. 

Delaware. 
Csesar Rodney, 
Thomas McKean, 
George Read. 

Maryland. 
Samuel Chase, 
William Paca, 
Thomas Stone, 
Charles Caroll, of CarollU»i» 

Virginia. 
George Wythe, 
Richard Henry Lee, 
Thomas Jefferson, 
Benjamin Harrison, 
Thomas Nelson, jun. 
Francis Lightfoot Lee, 
Carter Braxton. 



POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. 125 



North Carolina. 
William Hooper, 
Joseph Hewes, 
John Penn. 

South Carolina. 
Edward Rutledge, 
Thomas Heyward, jun. 



Thomas Lynch, jun. 
Arthur Middleton. 
Georgia. 
Button Gwinnett, 
Lyman Hall, 
George Walton. 



WASHINGTON'S FAREWELL ADDRESS TO THE PEOPLE 
OF THE UNITED STATES. 

Friends and Fellow Citizens — 

The period for a new election of a citizen to admin- 
ister the executive government of the United States, 
being not far distant, and the time actually arrived, 
when your thoughts must be employed in designating 
the person who is to be clothed with that important 
trust, it appears to me proper, especially as it may con- 
duce to a more distinct expression of the public voice, 
that I should now apprise you of the resolution I have 
formed, to decline being considered among the number 
of those out of whom a choice is to be made. 

I beg you, at the same time, to do me the justice to 
be assured, that this resolution has not been taken, 
without a strict regard to all the considerations apper- 
taining to the relation which binds a dutiful citizen to 
his country ; and that, in withdrawing the tender of 
service, which silence, in my situation, might imply, I 
am influenced by no diminution of zeal for your future 
interest ; no deficiency of grateful respect for your past 
kindness ; but am supported by a full conviction that 
the step is compatible with both. 

The acceptance of, and continuance hitherto in the 
office to which your suffrages have twice called me, have 
been a uniform sacrifice of inclination to the opinion of 
duty, and to a deference for what appeared to be your 
desire. I constantly hoped that it would have beer* 
much earlier in my power, consistently with motive* 

11* 



126 ELOQUENCE OF 

which I was not at liberty to disregard, to return to that 
retirement from which I had been reluctantly drawn. 
The strength of my inclination to do this, previous to 
the last election, had even led to the preparation of an 
address to declare it to you ; but mature reflection on 
the then perplexed and critical posture of our affairs 
with foreign nations, and the unanimous advice of per- 
sons entitled to my confidence, compelled me to aban- 
don the idea. 

I rejoice that the state of your concerns, external as 
well as internal, no longer renders the pursuit of incli- 
nation incompatible with the sentiment of duty or pro- 
priety ; and am persuaded, whatever partiality may be 
retained for my services, that in the present circumstan- 
ces of our country, you will not disapprove my determi- 
nation to retire. 

The impressions with which I first undertook the ar- 
duous trust, were explained on the proper occasion. In 
the discharge of this trust, I will only say, that I have 
with good intentions contributed towards the organiza- 
tion and administration of the government, the best ex- 
ertions of which a very fallible judgment was capable. 
Not unconscious in the outset of the inferiority of my 
qualifications, experience in my own eyes, perhaps still 
more so in the eyes of others, has strengthened the mo- 
tives to diffidence of myself; and every day the increas- 
ing weight of years admonishes me more and more that 
the shade of retirement is as necessary to me as it will 
I e welcome. Satisfied that if any circumstances have 
given peculiar value to my services, they were tempo- 
rary. I have the consolation to believe, that while 
choice and prudence invite me to quit the political scene, 
{■atriotism does not forbid it. 

In looking forward to the moment which is intended 
to terminate the career of my public life, my feelings 
do not permit me to suspend the deep acknowledgment 
of that debt of gratitude which I owe to my beloved 
country, for the many honors it has conferred upon me ; 
st ill more for the steadfast confidence with which it has 
supported me ; and for the opportunities I have thence 



POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. 127 

enjctyed of manifesting my inviolable attachment, by 
services faithful and persevering, though in usefulness 
unequal to my zeal. If benefits have resulted to our 
country from these services, let it always be remember- 
ed to your praise, and as an instructive example in our 
annals, that under circumstances in which the passions, 
agitated in every direction, were liable to mislead, amidst 
appearances sometimes dubious, vicissitudes of fortune 
often discouraging, in situations in which not unfre- 
quently want of success has countenanced the spirit of 
criticism, the constancy of your support was the essen- 
tial prop of the efforts, and the guarantee of the plans 
by which they were effected. Profoundly penetrated 
with this idea, I shall carry it with me to my grave, as a 
strong incitement to unceasing vows, that Heaven may 
continue to you the choicest tokens of its- beneficence ; 
that your union and brotherly affection may be perpetual; 
that the free constitution which is the work of your 
hands, may be sacredly maintained ; that its adminis- 
tration, in every department, maybe stamped with wis- 
dom and virtue ; that, in fine, the happiness of the 
people of these states, under the auspices of liberty, 
may be made complete, by so careful a preservation, and 
so prudent a use of this blessing, as will acquire to them 
the glory of recommending it to the applause, the af- 
fection, and the adoption of every nation which is yet 
a stranger to it. 

Here, perhaps, I ought to stop : but a solicitude for 
your welfare, which cannot end but with my life, and 
the apprehension of danger, natural to that solicitude, 
urge me, on an occasion like the present, to offer to your 
solemn contemplation, and to recommend to your fre- 
quent review, some sentiments, which are the result of 
much reflection, of no inconsiderable observation, and 
which appear to me all important to the permanency of 
your felicity as a people. These will be offered to you 
with the more freedom, as you can only see in them the 
disinterested warnings of a parting friend, who can pos- 
sibly have no personal motive to bias his counsel ; 
nor can I forget, as an encouragement to it, your indul- 



12S ELOQUENCE OF 

gem reception of my sentiments on a former and not 
dissimilar occasion. 

Interwoven as is the love of liberty with every liga- 
ment of your hearts, no recommendation of mine is ne- 
cessary to fortify or confirm the attachment. 

The unity of government, which constitutes you one 
people, is also now dear to you. It is justly so; for it 
is a main pillar in the edifice of your real independence ; 
the support of youT tranquility at home, your peace 
abroad ; of your safety ; of your prosperity ; of that 
very liberty which you so highly prize. But as it is 
easy to foresee, that from different causes, and from dif- 
ferent quarters, much pains will be taken, many artifi- 
ces employed, to weaken, in your minds, the conviction 
of this truth ; as this is the point in your political for- 
tress against which the batteries of internal and exter- 
nal enemies will be most constantly and actively, though 
often covertly and insidiously directed, it is of infinite 
moment that you should properly estimate the immense 
value of your national union, to your collective and in- 
dividual happiness ; that you should cherish a cordial, 
habitual and immoveable attachment to it ; accustom* 
ing yourselves to think and speak of it as the palladium 
of your political safety and prosperity; watching for 
its preservation with jealous anxiety ; discountenancing 
whatever may suggest even a suspicion that it can in 
any event be abandoned ; and indignantly frowning 
upon the first dawning of every attempt to alienate any 
portion of the country from the rest, or to enfeeble the 
sacred ties which now link together the various parts. 

For this you have every inducement of sympathy and 
interest. Citizens by birth or choice, of a common 
country, that country has a right to concentrate your 
affections. The name of American, which belongs to 
you in your national capacity, must always exalt the just 
pride of patriotism, more than any appellation derived 
from local discriminations. With slight shades of dif- 
ference, you have the same religion, manners, habits, 
and political principles. You have, in a common cause, 
fought and triumphed together: the independence and 



POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. 129 

liberty you possess, are the work of joint councils, and 
joint efforts, of common dangers, sufferings and succes- 
ses. But these considerations, however powerful, y 
they address themselves to your sensibility, are greatly 
outweighed by those which apply more immediately to 
your interest ; here every portion of our country finds 
the most commanding motives for carefully guarding 
and preserving the union of the whole. The North, m 
an unrestrained intercourse with the South, protected 
by the equal laws of a common government, finds, in 
the productions of the latter, great additional resources 
of maritime and commercial enterprise, and precious 
materials of manufacturing industry. The South in the 
same intercourse, benefitting by the agency of the 
North, sees its agriculture grow, and its commerce 
expand. Turning, partly into its own channels, the 
seamen of the Noi'th y it finds its particular navigation 
invigorated: and while it contributes, in different ways, 
to nourish and increase the general mass of the national 
navigation, it looks forward to the protection of a mari- 
time strength, to which itself is unequally adapted. 
The East, in like intercourse with the West, already 
finds, and in the progressive improvement of interior 
communication, by land and water, will more and more 
find a valuable vent for the commodities which it brings 
from abroad, or manufactures at home. The West 
derives from the East supplies requisite to its growth 
and comfort ; and what is, perhaps, of still greater con- 
sequence, it must, of necessity, owe the secure enjoy- 
ment of indispensable outlets for its own productions, 
to the weight, influence, and the future maritime 
strength of the Atlantic side of the union, directed by 
an indissoluble community of interest as one nation. 
Any other tenure by which the West can hold this 
essential advantage, whether derived from its own 
separate strength, or from an apostate and unnatural 
connexion with any foreign power, must be intrinsically 
precarious. 

While, then, every part of our country thus feels an 
immediate and particular interest in Union, all the 



130 ELOQUENCE OF 

parties combined cannot fail to find, in the united mass 
of means and efforts, greater strength, greater resource, 

f)roportionably greater security from external danger, a 
ess frequent interruption of their peace by foreign na- 
tions ; and what is of inestimable value, they must 
derive from Union, an exemption from those broils and 
wars between themselves, which so frequently afflict 
neighbouring countries, not tied together by the same 
government ; which their own rivalships alone would 
be sufficient to produce, but which opposite foreign 
alliances, attachments, and intrigues, would stimulate 
and embitter. Hence, likewise, they will avoid the 
necessity of those overgrown military establishments, 
which, under any form of government, are inauspicious 
to liberty, and which are to be regarded as particularly 
hostile to republican liberty ; in this sense it is, that 
your union ought to be considered as a main prop of 
your liberty, and that the love of the one ought to en- 
dear to you the preservation of the other. 

These considerations speak a persuasive language to 
every reflecting and virtuous mind, and exhibit the con- 
tinuance of the union as a primary object of patriotic de- 
sire. Is there a doubt, whether a common government 
can embrace so large a sphere ? — Let experience solve 
it. To listen to mere speculation, in such a case, were 
criminal. We are authorized to hope, that a proper or- 
ganization of the whole, with the auxiliary agency of 
governments for the respective subdivisions, will afford 
a happy issue to the experiment. It is well worth a 
fair and full experiment. With such powerful and ob- 
vious motives to union, affecting all parts of our coun- 
try, while experience shall not have demonstrated its 
impracticability, there will always be reason to distrust 
the patriotism of those, who, in any quarter, may en- 
deavour to weaken its bands. 

In contemplating the causes which may disturb our 
union, it occurs, as a matter of serious concern, that any 
ground should have been furnished for characterizing 
parties by geographical discriminations — Northern and 
Southern — Atlantic and Western ; whence designing 



POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. 131 

men may endeavour to excite a belief that there is a 
real difference of local interests and views. One of 
the expedients of party to acquire influence, within par- 
ticular districts, is, to misrepresent the opinions and 
aims of other districts. You cannot shield yourselves 
too much against the jealousies and heart burnings 
which spring from these misrepresentations : they tend 
to render alien to each other those who ought to be 
bound together by fraternal affection. The inhabitants 
of our western country have lately had a useful lesson 
on this head : they have seen, in the negociation by the 
Executive, and in the unanimous ratification by the 
Senate, of the treaty with Spain, and in the universal 
satisfaction at that event, throughout the United States, 
a decisive proof how unfounded were the suspicions 
propagated among them, of a policy in the general gov- 
ernment and in the Atlantic* states unfriendly to their 
interests in regard to the Mississippi : they have been 
witnesses to the formation of two treaties, that with 
Great Britain and that with Spain, which secure to 
them every thing they could desire, in respect to our 
foreign relations, towards confirming their prosperity. 
Will it not be their wisdom to rely for the preservation 
of these advantages on the union by which they were 
procured ? Will they not henceforth be deaf to those 
advisers, if such there are, who would sever them from 
their brethren and connect them with aliens ? 

To the efficacy and permanency of your union, a 
government for the whole is indispensable. No alli- 
ance, however strict, between the parts can be an ade- 
quate substitute ; they must inevitably experience the 
infractions and interruptions which all alliances in all 
times have experienced. Sensible of this momentous 
truth, you have improved upon your first essay, by the 
adoption of a constitution of government, better calcu- 
lated than your former, for an intimate union and for 
the efficacious management of your common concerns. 
This government, the offspring of our own choice, un- 
influenced and unawed, adopted upon full investigation 
and mature deliberation, completely free in its princi- 



132 ELOQUENCE OF 

pies, in the distribution of its powers, uniting security 
with, energy, and containing within itself a provision 
for its own amendment, has a just claim to your confi- 
dence and your support. Respect for its authority, com- 
pliance with its laws, acquiescence in its measures, are 
duties enjoined by the fundamental maxims of true lib- 
erty. The basis of our political systems is the right of 
the people to make and to alter their constitutions of 
government : but, the constitution which at any time 
exists, till changed by an explicit and authentic act of 
the whole people, is sacredly obligatory upon all. The 
very idea of the power and the right of the people to 
establish government, pre-supposes the duty of every 
individual to obey the established government. 

All obstructions to the execution of the laws, all 
combinations and associations, under whatever plausi- 
ble character, with the real design to direct, control, 
counteract, or awe the regular deliberation and action 
of the constituted authorities, are destructive of this 
fundamental principle, and of fatal tendency. They 
serve to organize faction, to give it an artificial and ex- 
traordinary force, to put in the place of the delega- 
ted will of the nation, the will of a party, often a small, 
but artful and enterprising minorit}^ of the community : 
and, according to the alternate triumphs of different 
parties, to make the public administration the mirror of 
the ill-concerted and incongruous projects of faction, 
rather than the organ of consistent and wholesome 
plans, digested by common councils, and modified by 
mutual interests. 

However combinations or associations of the above 
description may now and then answer popular ends, 
they are likely, in the course of time and things, to be- 
come potent engines, by which cunning, ambitious, and 
unprincipled men will be enabled to subvert the power 
of the people, and to usurp, for themselves, the reins of 
government; destroying afterwards, the very engines 
which have lifted them to unjust dominion. 

Towards the preservation of your government, and 
the permanency of your present happy state, it is requi- 



POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. 133 

site, not only that you speedily discountenance irregu- 
lar oppositions to its acknowledged authority, but also 
that you resist with care the spirit of innovation upon 
its principles, however specious the pretexts. One me- 
thod of assault may be to effect, in the forms of the con- 
stitution, alterations which will impair the energy of 
the system, and thus to undermine what cannot be di- 
rectly overthrown. In all the changes to which you 
may be invited, remember that time and habit are at 
least as necessary to fix the true character of govern- 
ments, as of other human institutions : that experience 
is the surest standard, by which to test the real tenden- 
cy of the existing constitution of a country : that facili- 
ty in changes, upon the credit of mere hypothesis and 
opinion, exposes to perpetual change, from the endless va- 
riety of hypothesis and opinion ; and remember especially 
that for the efficient management of your common inter- 
ests, in a country so extensive as ours, a government of 
as much vigour as is consistent with the perfect security 
of liberty, is indispensable. Liberty itself will find in such 
a government with powers properly distributed and ad- 
justed, its surest guardian. It is, indeed, little else than a 
name, where the government is too feeble to withstand 
the enterprises of faction, to confine each member of the 
society within the limits prescribed by the laws, and to 
maintain all in the secure and tranquil enjoyment of the 
rights of person and property. I have already intimated 
to you, the danger of parties in the state, *with particular 
reference to the founding of them on geographical dis- 
criminations. Let me now take a more comprehensive 
view, and warn you, in the most solemn manner, against 
the baneful effects of the spirit of party generally. 

This spirit, unfortunately, is inseparable from our na- 
ture, having its root in the strongest passions of the hu- 
man mind. It exists under different shapes in all gov- 
ernments, more or less stifled, controlled, or repressed; 
but in those of the popular form, it is seen in its great- 
est rankness, and is truly their worst enemy. 

The alternate domination of one faction over another, 
sharpened by the spirit of revenge, natural to party dis- 

12 



134 ELOQUENCE OF 

sention, which in different ages and countries, has per- 
petrated the most horrid enormities, is itself a frightful 
despotism. But this leads, at length, to a more formal 
and permanent despotism. The disorders and miser- 
ies which result, gradually incline the minds of men 
to seek security and repose in the absolute power of an 
individual ; and, sooner, or later, the chief of some pre- 
vailing faction, more able or more fortunate than his 
competitors, turns this disposition to the purposes of his 
own elevation, on the ruins of public liberty. 

Without looking forward to an extremity of this kind, 
which nevertheless ought not to be entirely out of sight, 
the common and continual mischiefs of the spirit of 
party, are sufficient to make it the interest and duty of 
a wise people to discourage and restrain it. 

It serves always to distract the public councils and en- 
feeble the public administration. It agitates the com- 
munity with ill-founded jealousies and false alarms; 
kindles the animosity of one part against another, fo- 
ments, occasionally, riot and insurrection. It opens the 
door to foreign influence and corruption, which find a 
facilitated access to the government itself, through the 
channels of party passions. Thus the policy and the 
will of one country are subjected to the policy and the 
will of another. 

There is an opinion that parties in free countries, 
are useful checks upon the administration of the govern- 
ment, and serve to keep alive the spirit of liberty. This, 
within certain limits, is probably true ; and in govern- 
ments of a monarchical cast, patriotism may look with 
indulgence, if not with favour upon the spirit of party. 
But in those of the popular character, in governments 
purely elective, it is a spirit not to be encouraged. From 
their natural tendency, it is certain there will always be 
enough of that spirit for every salutary purpose. And 
there being constant danger of excess, the effort ought 
to be, by force of public opinion, to mitigate and assu- 
age it. A fire not to be quenched , demands a uni- 
form vigilance to prevent its bursting into a flame ; lest, 
instead of warning, it should consume. 



POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. 135 

It is important likewise that the habits of thinking 
in a free country, should inspire caution in those en- 
trusted with its administration, to confine themselves 
within their respective constitutional spheres, avoiding, 
in the exercise of the powers of one department, to en- 
croach upon another. The spirit of encroachment tends 
to consolidate the powers of all the departments in one, 
and thus to create, whatever the form of government, 
a real despotism. A just estimate of that love of pow- 
er and proneness to abuse it, which predominates 
in the human heart, is sufficient to satisfy us of the 
truth of this position. The necessity of reciprocal 
checks in the exercise of political power, by dividing 
and distributing it into different depositories and con- 
stituting each the guardian of the public weal, against 
invasions by the others, has been evinced by experi- 
ments ancient and modern : some of them in our own 
country, and under our own eyes. To preserve them 
must be as necessary as to institute them. If, in the 
opinion of the people, the distribution or modification 
of the constitutional powers, be in any particular wrong, 
let it be corrected by an amendment in the way which 
the constitution designates. But let there be no change 
by usurpation ; for though this, in one instance, may 
be the instrument of good, it is the customary weapon 
by which free governments are destroyed. The pre- 
cedent must always greatly overbalance in permanent 
evil, any partial or transient benefit which the use can 
at any time yield. 

Of all the dispositions and habits which lead to po- 
litical prosperity, religion and morality are indispensa- 
ble supports. In vain would that man claim the tri- 
bute of patriotism, who should labor to subvert these 
great pillars of human happiness, these firmest props 
of the duties of men and citizens. The mere politi- 
cian, equally with the pious man, ought to respect and 
to cherish them. A volume could not trace all their 
connexions with private and public felicity. Let it 
simply be asked, where is the security for property, for 
reputation, for life, if the sense of religious obligation de- 



136 ELOQUENCE OF 

serf the oaths which are the instruments of investigation 
in courts of justice ? — And let us with caution indulge 
the supposition, that morality can be maintained, with- 
out religion. Whatever may be conceded to the in- 
fluence of refined education on minds of peculiar 
structure, reason and experience both forbid us to ex- 
pect that national morality can prevail in exclusion of 
religious principle. 

'Tis substantially true, that virtue and morality are 
necessary springs of popular government. The rule 
indeed extends with more or less force to every spe- 
cies of free government. Who, that is a sincere friend 
to it, can look with indifference upon attempts to shake 
the foundation of the fabric. 

Promote, then, as an object of primary importance, 
institutions for the general diffusion of knowledge. In 
proportion as the structure of a government gives force 
to public opinion, it is essential that public opinion 
should be enlightened. 

As a very important source of strength and security, 
cherish public credit. One method of preserving it is 
to use it as sparingly as possible ; avoiding occasions 
of expense, by cultivating peace, but remembering also 
that timely disbursements to prepare for danger, fre- 
quently prevent much greater disbursements to repel 
it ; avoiding likewise the accumulation of debt, not 
only by shunning occasions of expense, but by vigo- 
rous exertions in time of peace, to discharge the debts 
which unavoidable wars may have occasioned, not un- 
generously throwing upon posterity the burthen which 
we ourselves ought to bear. The execution of these 
maxims belongs to your representatives, but it is neces- 
sary that public opinion should co-operate. To facilitate 
to them the performance of their duty it is essential 
that you should practically bear in mind that towards 
the payment of debts there must be revenue ; that to 
have revenue there must be taxes ; that no taxes can 
be devised which are not more or less inconvenient 
and unpleasant ; that the intrinsic embarrassment, in- 
separable from the selection of the proper objects, which 



i 



POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. 137 

is always a choice of difficulties, ought to be a deci- 
sive motive for a candid construction of the conduct 
of the government in making it, and for a spirit of ac- 
quiescence in the measures for obtaining revenue 
which the public exigencies may at any time dictate. 

Observe good faith and justice towards all nations; 
cultivate peace and harmony with all ; religion and 
morality enjoin this conduct ; and can it be that good 
policy does not equally enjoin it ? It will be worthy 
of a free, enlightened, and, at no distant period, a 
great nation, to give to mankind the magnanimous 
and too novel example of a people always guided by 
an exalted justice and benevolence. Who can doubt 
that, in the course of time and things, the fruits of 
such a plan would richly repay any temporary advan- 
tages which might be lost by a steady adherence to it? 
Can it be, that Providence has not connected the per- 
manent felicity of a nation with its virtue ? The ex 
periment at least is recommended by every sentiment 
which ennobles human nature. Alas ! is it rendered im- 
possible by its vices ? 

In the execution of such a plan nothing is more es- 
sential than that permanent inveterate antipathies 
against particular nations, and passionate attachments 
for others, should be excluded ; and that, in place of 
them, just and amicable feelings towards all should be 
cultivated. The nation which indulges towards ano- 
ther an habitual hatred, or an habitual fondness, is, in 
some degree, a slave. It is a slave to its animosity, or 
to its affection, either of which is sufficient to lead it 
astray from its duty and its interest. Antipathy in one 
nation against another, disposes each more readily to 
offer insult and injury, to lay hold of slight causes of 
umbrage, and to be haughty and intractable, when ac- 
cidental or trifling occasions of dispute occur. Hence 
frequent collisions, obstinate, envenomed, and bloody 
contests. The nation prompted by ill-will and resent- 
ment, sometimes impels to war the government, con- 
trary to the best calculations of policy. The govern- 
ment sometimes participates in the national propensity 

12* 



133 ELOQUENCE OF 

and adopts, through passion, what reason would reject j 
at other times it makes the animosity of the nation sub- 
servient to projects of hostility instigated by pride, 
ambition, and other sinister and pernicious motives. 
The peace, often the liberty of nations, has been the 
victim. 

So, likewise, a passionate attachment of one nation 
to another produces a variety of evils. Sympathy for 
the favorite nation facilitating the illusion of an imagi- 
nary common interest, in cases where no real common 
interest exists, and infusing into one the enmities of 
the other, betrays the former into a participation in the 
quarrels and wars of the latter, without adequate in- 
ducement or justification. It leads also to concessions 
to the favorite nation of privileges denied to others,, 
which are apt doubly to injure the nation making the 
concessions — by unnecessarily parting with what ought 
to have been retained, and by exciting jealousy, ill-will,, 
and a disposition to retaliate, in the parties from whom 
equal privileges are withheld : and it gives to ambi- 
tious, corrupted, or deluded citizens, who devote them- 
selves to the favorite nation, facility to betray, or to 
sacrifice the interests of their own country, without 
odium, sometimes even with popularity ; gilding with 
the appearances of a virtuous sense of obligation, a 
commendable deference for public opinion, or a lauda- 
ble zeal for public good, the base or foolish compliances 
of ambition, corruption, or infatuation. 

As avenues to foreign influence in innumerable ways, 
such attachments are particularly alarming to the truly 
enlightened and independent patriot. How many 
opportunities do they afford to tamper with domestic 
factions, to practise the arts of seduction, to mislead 
public opinion, to influence or awe the public councils ! 
Such an attchment of a small or weak, towards a great 
tfnd powerful nation, dooms the former to be the satelite 
of the latter. 

Against the insidious wiles of foreign influence I 
conjure you to believe me, fellow-citizens, that the 
jealousy of a free people ought to be constantly awake ; 



POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. 139 

since history and experience prove that foreign influence 
is one of the most baneful foes of republican government. 
But that jealousy, to be useful must be impartial; else 
it becomes the instrument of the very influence to be 
avoided, instead of a defence against it. Excessive 
partiality for one foreign nation, and excessive dislike 
of another, cause those whom they actuate to see danger 
only on one side, and serve to veil and even second the 
arts of influence on the other. Keal patriots, who may 
resist the intrigues of the favorite, are liable to become 
suspected and odious ; while its tools and dupes usurp 
the applause and confidence of the people, to surrender 
their interests. 

The great rule of conduct for us, in regard to foreign 
nations, is, in extending our commercial relations, to 
have with them as little political connexion as possible. 
So far as w r e have already formed engagements let 
them be fulfilled with perfect good faith. Here let us 
stop, 

Europe has a set of primary interests, which to us 
have none, or a very remote relation. Hence she must 
be engaged in frequent controversies, the causes of 
which are essentially foreign to our concerns. Hence, 
therefore it must be unwise in us to implicate ourselves 
by artificial ties, in the ordinary vicissitudes of her 
politics, or the ordinary combinations and collisions of 
her friendships or enmities. 

Our detached and distant situation invites and en- 
ables us to pursue a different course. If we remain 
one people, under an efficient government, the period 
is not far off, when we may defy material injury from 
external annoyance ; when w r e may take such an atti- 
tude as will cause the neutrality we may at any time 
resolve upon to be scrupulously respected; when 
belligerant nations under the impossibility of making 
acquisitions upon us, will not lightly hazard the giving 
us provocation ; when we may choose peace or w r ar, as 
our interest, guided by justice, shall counsel. 

Why forego the advantages of so peculiar a situation ? 
Why quit our own, to stand upon foreign ground * 



140 ELOQUENCE OF 

Why, by interweaving our destiny with that of any 
part of Europe, entangle our peace and prosperity in the 
toils of European ambition, rivalship, interest, humor, 
or caprice ? 

'Tis our true policy to steer clear of permanent alli- 
ances with any portion of the foreign world ; so far, I 
mean, as we are now at liberty to do it ; for let me not 
be understood as capable of patronizing infidelity to 
existing engagements. I hold the maxim no less appli- 
cable to public than to private affairs, that honesty is 
always the best policy. I repeat it, therefore, let those 
engagements be observed in their genuine sense. But 
in my opinion, it is unnecessary and would be unwise 
to extend them. 

Taking care always to keep ourselves by suitable 
establishments on a respectable defensive posture, we 
may safely trust to temporary alliances for extraordi- 
nary emergencies. 

Harmony and a liberal intercourse with all nations, 
are recommended by policy, humanity, and interest. 
But even our commercial policy should hold an equal 
and impartial hand ; neither seeking nor granting 
exclusive favors or preferences; consulting the natural 
course of things ; diffusing and diversifying, by gentle 
means, the streams of commerce, but forcing nothing ; 
establishing, with powers so disposed, in order to give 
trade a stable course, to define the rights of our mer- 
chants, and to enable the government to support them 
by conventional rules of intercourse ? the best that present 
circumstances and mutual opinion will permit, but 
temporary and liable to be from time to time, aban- 
doned or varied, as experience and circumstances shall 
dictate ; constantly keeping in view, that 'tis folly in 
one nation to look for disinterested favors from another; 
that it must pay with a portion of its independence for 
whatever it may accept under that character; that by 
such acceptance, it may place itself in the condition of 
having given equivalents for nominal favors, and yet 
of being reproached with ingratitude for not giving 
more. There can be no greater error than to expect, 



POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. 141 

m* calculate upon real favors from nation to nation. 
'Tis all illusion, which experience must cure, which a 
just pride ought to discard. 

In offering to you, my countrymen, these counsels of 
an oid and affectionate friend, I dare not hope they 
will make the strong and lasting impression 1 could 
wish ; that they will control the usual current of the 
passions, or prevent our nation from running the course 
which has hitherto marked the destiny of nations ; but 
if I may even flatter myself, that they may be produc- 
tive of some partial benefit, some occasional good ; that 
they may now and then recur to moderate the fury of par- 
ty spirit to warn against the mischiefs of foreign intrigues, 
to guard against the impostures of pretended patriot- 
ism ; this hope will be a full recompense for the solici- 
tude for your welfare by which they have been dictated. 

How far, in the discharge of my official duties I have 
been guided by the principles which have been delinea- 
ted, the public records and other evidences of my con- 
duct must witness to you and to the world. To myself, 
the assurance of my own conscience is, that I have at 
least believed myself to be guided by them. 

In relation to the still subsisting war in Europe, my 
proclamation of the 22d of April 1793, is the index to 
my plan. Sanctioned by your approving voice, and by 
that of your Representatives in both Houses of Congress, 
the spirit of that measure has continually governed me, 
uninfluenced by any attempts to deter or divert me 
from it. 

After deliberate examination, with the aid of the best 
lights I could obtain, I was well satisfied that our coun- 
try, under all the circumstances of the case, had a right 
to take, and was bound in duty and interest to take a 
neutral position. Having taken it, I determined, as far 
as should depend upon me, to maintain it with modera- 
tion, perseverance and firmness. 

The considerations which respect the right to hold 
this conduct, it is not necessary on this occasion to de- 
tail. I will only observe that according to my under- 
standing of the matter, that right, so far from being de- 



142 ELOQUENCE OF 

nied by any of the belligerant powers, has been virtual- 
ly admitted by all. 

The duty of holding a neutral conduct may be in- 
ferred without anything more from the obligation which 
justice and humanity impose on every nation in cases 
in which it is free to act, to maintain inviolate the rela- 
tions of peace and amity towards other nations. 

The inducements of interest, for observing that con- 
duct, will best be referred to your own reflections and 
experience. With me a predominant motive has been 
to endeavor to gain time to our country to settle and 
mature its yet recent institutions, and to progress, with- 
out interruption, to that degree of strength and consis- 
tency, which is necessary to give it, humanly speaking, 
the command of its own fortunes. 

Though in reviewing the incidents of my adminis- 
tration, I am unconscious of intentional error, I am 
nevertheless too sensible of my defects, not to think it 
probable that I may have committed many errors. What- 
ever they may be, I fervently beseech the Almighty to 
avert or mitigate the evils to which they may tend. I 
shall also carry with me the hope that my country will 
never cease to view them with indulgence ; and that, 
after forty-five years of my life, dedicated to its service, 
with an upright zeal, the faults of incompetent abilities 
will be consigned to oblivion, as myself must soon be 
to the mansions of rest. 

Eelying on its kindness in this as in other things, and 
actuated by that fervent love towards it which is so na- 
tural to a man who views in it the native soil of him- 
self and his progenitors for several generations, I an- 
ticipate, with pleasing expectation, that retreat, in which 
I promise myself to realize, without alloy, the sweet 
enjoyment of partaking in the midst of my fellow- 
citizens, the benign influence of good laws under a free 
government — the ever favorite object of my heart and 
the happy reward, as I trust, of our mutual cares, labors 
and dangers. 

GEORGE WASHINGTON. 

United States, 17 th Sept. 1796, 



POPTTLAR ASSEMBLIES. 143 

Extract from an Oration, delivered at the City Hotels in 
the New-York Forum, April, 1821. 



Pre-eminence in oratory was the most distinguishing 
mark of excellence among the enlightened of the na- 
tions of antiquity, and they brought it to a perfection 
which, although the lapse of ages has taken place and 
millions have toiled to emulate, few have been able to 
equal, none to surpass. 

Who can read the fulminations of a Demosthenes to 
arouse the slumbering spirit of the Athenian against 
Macedonian Philip, with an eloquence whose influence, 
like that of the moon upon the waters, raised the tide of 
the multitude, till 4 o'erleaping all bounds, it burst an im- 
petuous and overwhelming torrent against the encroach- 
ing object of its opposition ; who can read this and not 
feel a devotion to sacrifice all selfish and personal ad- 
vantages for the prosperity, safety, and happiness of his 
native country ? 

Who but must look back with an admiration approach- 
ing to Mythologic deification, at the splendor of a Ci- 
cero, encircled by the glory of his forensic eloquence, 
in the accusation of a Verres ? 

What holy, what dignified uses — what noble results 
has not oratory led to, and may not oratory continue to 
achieve ? 

In a religious point of view, what good man who con- 
templates that system of infidelity and demoralization, 
resorted to by men of a very different denomination, 
but must rejoice that the redeeming voice of eloquence, 
in the more redeeming language of Christianity, may 
rescue ignorance or impiety from such wicked, such ini- 
quitous procedure ! A system which, if suffered with- 
out disapprobation to be disseminated, might ultimately 
destroy the humanity and harmony which constitute the 
'present happiness of civilized society here, and even a 
hope of eternal happiness hereafter. 

Oratory, in this country, may not only be looked up 
on as the finger mark on the road which points at, but 



144 ELOQUENCE O* 

the powerful impetus by which desert may be urged to 
aspire to, nay, even seat itself in, that highly pinnacled 
chair, which the suffrage of a free and independent 
people has so placed, to render the individual of their 
choice pre-eminently conspicuous. 

Oratory may be hailed a nation's champion, rearing 
his majestic front for the preservation of liberty, pro- 
perty, and life ; the firm and fearless defender of the 
houseless widow, the helpless orphan, the wretched and 
the oppressed ; the strong and irresistible power 
which drags the guilty culprit from his dark and pollu- 
ted den to the blaze of day, and the seat of justice; 
the Minervan shield which covers and protects the in- 
nocent and falsely accused, from shafts of slander shot 
to inflict wounds most deadly, most undeserved ; the 
heaven-gifted power which reascends to the mansion of 
its creation, an all persuasive advocate in the righteous 
cause of suffering humanity : these are the uses, th^se 
the religion fulfilling effects, these the honor dispensing 
attributes, these the heart rendering rewards of ora- 
tory. 

In our admiration of ancient , let not modern eloquence 
be forgotten. Partiality ought not to be attributed to me 
for the selection which lam about to make" all should 
receive my humble eulogy did but memory admit of the 
recurrence. The following are green in its storehouse. 
Where are those who late were wont to charm the Se- 
nate, the Pulpit, and the Bar ? — those to whose accents 
men have listened with reverential silence, and a de- 
light increasing with the duration of their devotion ? 
Where Chatham, Burke, Pitt, Fox, Sheridan, Grattan, 
Kirwan, Ames, Hamilton, Henry, Pinkney, Erskine, 
Curran. Curran, whom alone to name is but to eulo- 
gize. Oh, how unreal, how evanescent, are all earth- 
ly acquirements ] Alas ! those bright luminaries, 
that so irradiated oratory, have passed away ; but, for- 
tunately for posterity, each has left a refulgent path 
which, like the skyey milky way, will baffle time by 
holding with him a duration equal, an existence death 



POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. 145 

LORD CHATHAM'S SPEECH AGAINST ARMING THE 
SAVAGES, IN 1778. 

I am astonished, I am shocked to hear such princi- 
ples confessed, to hear them avowed in this house, or in 
this country. My lords, I did not intend to encroach on 
your attention ; but I cannot repress my indignation ; I 
feel myself impelled to speak. We are called upon as 
members of this house, as men> as christians, to pro* 
test against such horrible barbarity — * that God and Na- 
ture have put into our hands !' What ideas of God and 
Nature that noble lord may entertain, I know not ; but 
I know that such destestable principles are equally ab- 
horrent to religion and to humanity. What ! to attribute 
the sacred sanction of God and Nature to the massacres 
of the Indian scalping-knife ! to the cannibal savage, 
torturing, murdering, devouring, drinking the blood of 
his mangled victims ! such notions shock every precept 
of morality, every feeling of humanit}?-, every sentiment 
of honor. These abominable principles, and this most 
abominable avowal of them, demand the most decisive 
indignation. I call upon that right reverend, and this 
most learned bench, to vindicate the religion of their 
God, to support the justice of their country. I call upon 
the bishops to interpose the sanctity of their lawn, upon 
the judges to interpose the purity of their ermine, to 
save us from this pollution. I call upon the honor of 
your lordships to reverence the dignity of your ancestors, 
and to maintain your own. I call upon the spirit and 
humanity of my country to vindicate the national char- 
acter. I invoke the Genius of the Constitution. From 
the tapestry that adorns these walls, the immortal an- 
cestor of this noble lord, frowns with indignation at the 
disgrace of his country. In vain did he defend the lib- 
erty, and establish the religion of Britain, against the ty- 
ranny of Rome, if these worse than popish cruelties and 
inquisitorial practices are endured among us. To send 
forth the merciless cannibal thirsting for blood ! against 
whom ? your Protestant brethren. To lay waste their 
Country, to desolate their dwellings, and extirpate their 
race and name by the aid and instrumentality of these 

13 



146 ELOQUENCE OF 

horrid hell-hounds of war ! Spain can no longer boasi 
pre-eminence in barbarity. She armed herself with 
blood-hounds to extirpate the wretched natives of Mexi- 
co ; we, more ruthless, loose the dogs of war against 
our countrymen in America, endeared to us by every 
tie that can sanctify humanity. I solemnly calLupon your 
lordships, and upon every order of men in the state, to 
stamp upon the infamous procedure the indelible stigma 
of public abhorrence. More particularly I call upon the 
holy prelates of our religion, to do away this iniquity; 
let them perform a lustration to purify the country from 
this deep and deadly sin. 



ON SLANDER. 

I am one of those who believe that the heart of the 
wilful and the deliberate libeller is blacker than that of 
the highway robber, or of one who commits the crime 
of midnight arson. The man who plunders on the 
highway, may have the semblance of an apology for 
what he does. An affectionate wife may demand sub- 
sistence ; a circle of children raise to him the supplica- 
ting hand for food. He may be driven to the desperate 
act by the high mandate of imperative necessity. The 
mild features of the husband and the father may inter- 
mingle with those of the robber and soften the rough- 
ness of the shade. But the robber of character plun- 
ders that which " not enricheth him," though it make 
his neighbor u poor indeed." The man who at the 
midnight hour consumes his neighbor's dwelling, does 
him an injury which perhaps is not irreparable. Industry 
may rear another habitation. The storm may indeed 
descend upon him until charity open a neighboring 
door : the rude winds of heaven may whistle around 
his uncovered family. But he looks forward to better 
days ; he has yet a hook to hang a hope upon. No such 
consolation cheers the heart of him whose character has 
been torn from him. If innocent, he may look, like 
Anaxagoras, to the heavens ; but he must be constrained 



POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. 147 

to feel that this world is to him a wilderness. For 
whither shall he go ? Shall he dedicate himself to the 
service of his country? Bat will his country receive 
him ? "Will she employ in her counsels, or in her ar- 
mies, the man at whom the " slow unmoving finger of 
scorn" is pointed ? Shall he betake himself to the fire- 
side ? The story of his disgrace will enter his own 
doors before him. And can he bear, think you, can he 
bear the sympathizing agonies of a distressed wife ? 
Can he endure the formidable presence of scrutinizing, 
sneering domestics ? Will his children receive instruc- 
tion from the lips of a disgraced father? Gentlemen,, 
I am not ranging on fairy ground. 1 am telling the 
plain story of my client's wrongs. By the ruthless 
hand of malice his character has been wantonly mas- 
sacred ; — and he now appears before a jury of his coun- 
try for redress. Will you deny him this redress ? — is 
character valuable ? On this point I will not insult you. 
with argument. There are certain things, to argue- 
which is treason against nature. The Author of our 
being did not intend to leave this point afloat at the 
mercy of opinion, but with his own hand has he kind- 
ly planted in the soul of man an instinctive love of char- 
acter. This high sentiment has no affinity to pride. It 
is the ennobling quality of the soul : and if we have 
hitherto been elevated above the ranks of surrounding 
creation, human nature owes its elevation to the love, 
of character. It is the love of character for which the 
poet has sung, the philosopher toiled, the hero bled. It 
is the love of character which wrought miracles at an- 
cient Greece ; the love of character is the eagle on which 
Eome rose to empire. And it is the love of character 
animating the bosom of her sons, on which America 
must depend in those approaching crises that may " try 
men's souls. M Will a jury weaken this our nation's 
hope? Will they by their verdict pronounce to the youth 
of our country, that character is scarce worth possessing ?. 
We read of that philosophy which can smile over the 
destruction of property — of that religion which enables 
its possessor to to extend the benign look of forgiveness 



14S ELOQUENCE OF 

and complacency to his murderers. But it is not in the 
soul of man to bear the laceration of slander. The phi- 
losophy which could bear it, we should despise. The 
religion which could bear it, we should not despise — 
but we should be constrained to say, that its kingdom 
was not of this world 



HOLLA'S ADDRESS. 

My brave associates, partners of my toils, my feelings 
and my fame. Can Rolla's words add vigor to the 
virtuous energies which inspire your hearts ? No, you 
have judged as I have, the foulness of the crafty plea 
by which these bold invaders would delude ye. Your 
generous spirit has compared, as mine has, the motives 
which in a war like this can animate their minds and 
ours. They, by a strange phrenzy driven, fight for 
power, for plunder and extended rule ; we — for our 
country, our altars and our homes! They follow an 
adventurer whom they fear, and obey a power which 
they hate ; we serve a country which we love — a God 
whom we adore. Where e'er they move in anger desola- 
tion tracks their progress; where e'er they pause in amity, 
affliction mourns their friendship. They boast they come 
but to improve our state, enlarge our thoughts and free 
us from the yoke of error. Yes, they will give en- 
lightened freedom to our minds, who are themselves 
the slaves of passion, avarice and pride. They offer us 
their protection ; yes, such protection as vultures give 
to lambs, covering and devouring them. They call on 
us to barter all of good we have inherited and 'proved) 
for the desperate chance of something better which they 
promise. Be our plain answer this : The throne we 
honor is the -people's choice ; the laws we reverence are 
our brave fathers' legacy; the faith we follow, teaches 
us to live in bonds of charity with all mankind and die 

with hope of bliss beyond the grave. Tell your 

invaders this, and tell them too, we seek no change, and 
least of all, such change as they would bring us, 



POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. 149 

BRUTUS' HARANGUE ON THE DEATH OF CJESAR. 

Eomans, Countrymen, and Lovers ! — Hear me for 
my cause ; and be silent that you may hear. Believe 
me for mine honor ; and have respect to mine honor, 
that you may believe. Censure me in your wisdom ; 
and awake your senses, that you may the better judge. 
If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of 
Caesar's, to him I say. that Brutus' love to Caesar was no 
•ess than his. If then that friend demand why Bru- 
tus rose against Caesar, this is my answer : Not that I 
loved Caesar less, but that I loved Eome more. Had 
you rather Caesar were living, and die all slaves ; than 
that Caesar were dead, to live all freemen ? As Caesar 
loved me, I weep for him ; as he was fortunate I re- 
joice at it ; as he was valiant, I honor him ; but as he 
was ambitious — I slew him. There are tears for his 
love, joy for his fortune, honor for his valor, and death 
for his ambition. Who is here so base that would be a 
bondman? if any, speak; for him have I offended. 
Who is here so rude, that would not be a Eoman ? if 
any, speak, for him have I offended. Who is here so 
vile, that would not love his country? if any, speak; 
for him have I offended. I pause for a reply 

None ! Then none have I offended. I have done 
no more to Caesar than you should do to Brutus. The 
question of his death is enrolled in the capitol ; his 
glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy ; nor his 
offences enforced, for which he suffered death. 

Here comes his body, mourn'd by Mark Antony \ 
who, though he had no hand in his death, shall receive 
the benefit of his dying, a place in the commonwealth ; 
as which of you shall not ? — With this I depart — that 
as I slew my best lover for the good of Eome, I have 
the same dagger for myself, when it shall please my 
country to need my death 



13* 



150 ELOQUENCE OF 

ANTONY'S ORATION OVER CjESAR'S BODY. 

Friends, Romans, Countrymen ! Lend me your ears, 
T come to bury Caesar not to praise him. 
The evil that men do, lives after them ; 
The good is oft interred with their bones : 
So let it be with Caesar ! Noble Brutus 
Hath told you Caesar was ambitious. 
If it were so, it was a grievous fault ; 
And grievously hath Caesar answer'd it. 
Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest, 
For Brutus is an honorable man, 
So are they all, all honorable men, 
Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. 

He was my friend, faithful and just to me: 
But Brutus says he was ambitious ; 
And Brutus is an honorable man. 
He hath brought many captives home to Rome y 
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill : 
Did this in Caesar seem ambitious ? 
"When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept 
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff. 
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious ; 
And Brutus is an honorable man. 
You all did see that on the Lupercal, 
I thrice presented him a kingly crown ; 
Which he did thrice refuse : Was this ambition? 
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious ; 
And sure, he is an honorable man. 
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke ; 
But here I am to speak what I do know. 
You all did love him once ; not without cause ; 
What cause withholds you then to mourn for him? 
judgment ! Thou art fled to brutish beasts, 
A.nd men have lost their reason. Bear with me, 
My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar ; 
And I must pause till it come back to me. 

But yesterday the word of Caesar, might 
Have stood against the world ! Now lies he there 
And none so poor to do him reverence. 
Masters ! If I were dispos'd to stir 



POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. 151 

Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, 
I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong ; 
Who, you all know, are honorable men. 
I will not do them wrong— I rather choose 
To'wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you, 
Than I will wrong such honorable men. 
But here's a parchment, with the seal of Caesar ; 
1 found it in his closet : 'tis his will. 
Let but the commons hear this testament, 
Which pardon me I do not mean to read, 
And they would go and kiss dead Cassar's wounds, 
And dip their napkins m his sacred bloods- 
Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, 
And, dying, mention it within their wills r 
Bequeathing it as a rich legacy, 
Unto their issue— 

If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. 
You all do know this mantle : I remember 
The first time ever Caesar put it on; 
? Twas on a summer's evening in his tent, 

That day he overcame the Nervii 

Look ! In this place ran Cassias' dagger through— 

See what a rent the envious Casca made 

Through this the well beloved Brutus stabb'd ; 

And, as he plucked his cursed steel aw r ay, 

Mark how the blood of Caesar follow'd it ! 

This, this was the unkindest cut of all ! 

For when the noble Caesar saw him stab, 

Ingratitude, more strong than traitor's arms, 

Quite vanquished him ! Then burst his mighty heart f 

And in his mantle muffling up his face, 

E'en at the base of Pompey's statue, 

Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell. 

O what a fall was there, my countrymen ! 

Then I and you and all of us fell down ; 

Whilst bloody treason flourished over us. 

O, now you weep ; and I perceive you feel 

The dint of pity ! These are gracious drops. 

Kind souls ! What, weep you when you but behold 

Our Caesar's vesture wounded ? Look ye here !— 



152 ELOQUENCE OF 

Here is himself — marr'd as you see, by traitors. 

Good friends ! Sweet friends ! Let me not stir you up 
To any sudden flood of Mutiny ! 
They that have done this deed are honorable 
What private griefs they have, alas [ know not, 
That made them do it ! They are wise and honorable, 
And will, no doubt, with reason answer you. 
I come not friends, to steal away your hearts ! 
I am no orator, as Brutus is ; 
But as you know me all, a plain blunt man 
That love my friend — and that they know full well, 
That gave me public leave to speak of him ! 
For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, 
Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, 
To stir men's blood — I only speak right on. 
I tell you that which you yourselves do know — 
Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor poor dumb 

mouths, 
And bid them speak for me. But, were I Brutus, 
And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony 
Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue 
In every wound of Caesar, that should move 
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny. 



EULOGY PRONOUNCED AT THE CITY OF WASHINGTON, 
Oct. 19, 1826. By WILLIAM WIRT. 

The scenes which have been lately passing in our 
country, and of which this meeting is a continuance, 
are full of moral instruction. They hold up to the 
world a lesson of wisdom by which all may profit, if 
Heaven shall grant them the discretion to turn it to its 
use. The spectacle, in all its parts, has indeed, been 
most solemn and impressive ; and though the first im- 
pulse be now past, the time has not yet come, and never 
will it come, when we can contemplate it, without 
renewed emotion. 



POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. 153 

In the structure of their characters ; in the course of 
their action ; in the striking coincidences which marked 
their high career ; in the lives and in the deaths of the 
illustrious men, whose virtues and services we have 
met to commemorate — and in that voice of admiration 
and gratitude which has since burst, with one accord, 
from the twelve millions of freemen who people these 
States, there is a moral sublimity which overwhelms 
the mind, and hushes all its powers into silent amaze- 
ment ! 

The European, who should have heard the sound 
without apprehending the cause, would be apt to in- 
quire, u What is the meaning of all this ? what had 
these men done to elicit this unanimous and splendid 
acclamation ? Why has the whole American nation 
risen up, as one man, to do them honor, and ofTer to 
them this enthusiastic homage of the heart ? Were they 
mighty warriors, and was the peal that we have heard, 
the shout of victory ? Were they great commanders, 
returning from their distant conquests, surrounded with 
the spoils of war, and was this the sound of their tri- 
umphal procession ? Were they covered with martial 
glory in any form, and was this ' the noisy wave of the 
multitude rolling back at their approach V " Nothing 
of all this : No ; they were peaceful and aged patriots, 
who, having served their country together, through 
their long and useful lives, had now sunk together to 
the tomb. They had not fought battles; but they had 
formed and moved the great machinery of which battles 
were only a small, and, comparatively, trivial conse- 
quence. They had not commanded armies ; but they 
had commanded the master springs of the nation, on 
which all its great political, as well as military move- 
ments depended. By the wisdom and energy of their 
counsels, and by the potent mastery of their spirits, they 
had contributed pre-eminently to produce a mighty 
Revolution, which has changed the aspect of the world. 
A Revolution which, in one half of that world has 
already restored man to his "long-lost liberty;" and 
government to its only legitimate object, the happiness 



154 ELOQUENCE OF 

of the People : and, on the other hemisphere, has thrown 
a light so strong, that even the darkness of despotism 
is beginning to recede. Compared with the solid glory 
of an achievement like this, what are battles, and what 
the pomp of war, but the poor and fleeting pageants of 
a theatre ? What were the selfish and petty strides of 
Alexander to conquer a little section of a savage world, 
compared with this generous, this magnificent advance 
towards the emancipation of the entire world ! 

And this, be it remembered, has been the fruit of in- 
tellectual exertion ! the triumph of mind! What a proud 
testimony does it bear to the character of our nation, 
that they are able to make a proper estimate of services 
like these ! That while, in other countries, the sense- 
less mob fall down in stupid admiration, before the 
bloody wheels of the conqueror — even of the conqueror 
by accident — in this, our People rise, with one accord, 
to pay their homage to intellect and virtue ! What a 
cheering pledge does it give of the stability of our in- 
stitutions, that while abroad, the yet benighted multi- 
tude are prostrating themselves before the idols which 
their own hands have fashioned into Kings, here in 
this land of the free, our People are every where start- 
ing up with one impulse, to follow with their acclama- 
tions the ascending spirits of the great Fathers of the 
Republic ! This is a spectacle of which we may be per- 
mitted to be proud. It honors our country no less than 
the illustrious dead. And could those great Patriots 
speak to us from the tomb, they would tell us that they 
have more pleasure in the testimony which these honors 
bear to the character of their country, than in that which 
they bear to their individual services. They now see as 
they were seen, while in the body, and know the nature of 
the feeling from which these honors flow. It is love 
for love. It is the gratitude of an enlightened nation 
to the noblest order of benefactors. It is the only glo- 
ry worth the aspiration of a generous spirit. Who 
would not prefer this living tomb in the hearts of his 
countrymen, to the proudest mausoleum that the Genius 
of Sculpture could erect ! 



POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. 155 

Man has been said to be the creature of accidental 
position. The cast of his character has been thought 
to depend, materially, on the age, the country, and the 
circumstances, in which he has lived. To a considera- 
ble extent, the remark is, no doubt, true. Cromwell, 
had he been born in a Republic, might have been 
" guiltless of his country's blood;" and, but for those 
civil commotions which had wrought his great mind in- 
to tempest, even Milton might have rested " mute and 
inglorious." The occasion is, doubtless, necessary, to 
develope the talent, whatsoever it may be ; but the tal- 
ent, must exist, in embryo at least, or no occasion can 
quicken it into life. And it must exist, too, under the 
check of strong virtues ; or the same occasion that 
quickens it into life, will be extremely apt to urge it on 
to crime. The hero who finished his career at St. He- 
lena, extraordinary as he was, is a far more common 
character in the history of the world, than he who sleeps 
in our neighborhood, embalmed in his country's tears — 
or than those whom we have now met to mourn and to 
honor. 

Jefferson and Adams were great men by nature. 
Not great and eccentric minds " shot madly from their 
spheres" to affright the world and scatter pestilence in 
their course ; but minds,whose strong and steady light, 
restrained within their proper orbits by the happy poise 
of their characters, came to cheer and to gladden a 
world that had been buried for ages in political night. 
They were heaven-called avengers of degraded man. 
They came to lift him to the station for which God had 
formed him, and to put to flight those idiot superstitions 
with which tyrants had contrived to enthrall his reason 
and his liberty. And that Being who had sent them 
upon this mission, had fitted them, pre-eminently, for 
his glorious work. He filled their hearts with a love 
of country which burned strong within them, even in 
death. He gave them a power of understanding which 
no sophistry could baffle, no art elude ; and a moral he- 
roism which no dangers could appal. Careless of them- 
selves, reckless of all personal consequences, trampling 



156 ELOQUENCE OF 

underfoot that petty ambition of office and honor which 
constitutes the master-passion of little minds, they bent 
all their mighty powers to the task for which they had 
been delegated — the freedom of their beloved country 
and the restoration of fallen man. They felt that they 
were Apostles of human liberty; and well did they fulfil 
their high commission. They rested not until they had 
accomplished their work at home, and given such an 
impulse to the great ocean of mind, that they saw the 
waves rolling on the farthest shore, before they were 
called to their reward. And then left the world, hand 
in hand, exulting, as they rose, in the success of their 
labors. 



Adams and Jefferson were born, the Jlrst in Massa- 
chusetts on the 19th of October, 1735 ; the last in Vir- 
ginia, on the 2d of April, 1743. On the earliest open- 
ing of their characteis, it was manifest that they 
were marked for distinction. They both displayed that 
thirst for knowledge, that restless spirit of inquiry, 
that fervid sensibility, and that bold, fearless indepen- 
dence of thought, which are among the surest prognos- 
tics of exalted talent ; and fortunately for them, as 
well as for their country and mankind, the Universi- 
ties in their respective neighborhoods opened to their 
use, all the fountains of ancient and modern learn- 
ing. With what appetite they drank at these fountains, 
we need no testimony of wimesses to inform us. The 
living streams which afterwards flowed from their own 
lips and pens, are the best witnesses that can be called, 
of their youthful studies. They were, indeed, of that 
gifted order of minds, to which early instruction is of 
little other use than to inform them of their own powers, 
and to indicate the objects of human knowledge. Ed- 
ucation was not with them as with minor characters, 
an attempt to plant new talents and new qualities in a 
a strange and reluctant soil. It was the development, 
merely of those which already existed. Thus, the 



POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. 157 

piire and disinterested patriotism of Aristides, the firm- 
ness of Cato, and the devotion of Curtius, only wakened 
the principles that were sleeping in their young hearts, 
and touched the responding chords with which heaven 
had attuned them. ^The statesman-like vigor of Peri- 
cles, and. the spirit stirring energy of Demosthenes, 
only roused their own lion powers and informed 
them of their strength. Aristotle, and Bacon, and 
Sidney, and Locke, could do little more than to disclose 
to them their native capacity for the profound investi- 
gation and ascertainment of truth ; and Newton taught 
their power to range among the stars. In short, every 
model to which they looked, and every great master to 
whom they appealed, only moved into life the scarcely 
dormant energies with which Heaven had endued 
them ; and they came forth from the discipline, not 
decorated for pomp, but armed for battle. 

From this first coincidence, in the character of their 
minds and studies, let us proceed to another. They 
both turned their attention to the same profession, the 
profession of the law ; and they both took up the study 
of this profession on the same enlarged scale which 
was so conspicuous in all their other intellectual opera- 
tions. They had been taught by Hooker to look with 
reverence upon the science of the law : for, he had 
told them that " her seat was the bosom of God, her 
voice the harmony of the world." Pursued in the 
spirit, on the extended plan, and with the noble aim, 
with which they pursued it, may it not be said, without 
the hazard of illiberal construction, that there was no 
profession in this country to which Heaven could have 
directed their choice, so well fitted to prepare them for 
the eventful struggle which was coming -on. 



There was now open war between Great Britain and 
her colonies. Yet the latter looked no farther than re- 
sistance to the specific power of the parent country to 
tax them at pleasure. A dissolution of the union had 

14 



158 ELOQUENCE OF 

not yet been contemplated, either by Congress or the 
nation ; and many of those who had voted for the war, 
would have voted, and did afterwards vote against that 
dissolution. 

Such was the state of things under which the Con- 
gress of 1776 assembled, when Adams and Jefferson 
again met. It was, as you know, in this Congress, that 
the question of American Independence came, for the 
first time, to be discussed ; and never, certainly, has a 
more momentous question been discussed in any age 
or in any country ; for, it was fraught, not only with 
the destinies of this wide extended continent, but, as 
the event has shown, and is still showing, with the 
destinies of man all over the world. 

How fearful that question then was, no one can tell 
but those who forgetting all that has since past, can 
transport themselves back to the time, and plant their 
feet on the ground which those patriots then occupied. 
" Shadows, clouds, and darkness" then covered all the 
future, and the present was full only of danger and 
terror. A more unequal contest never was proposed. 
It was, indeed, as it was then said to be, the shepherd 
boy of Israel going forth to battle against the giant of 
Gath ; and there were yet among us, enough to trem- 
ble when they heard that giant say, " Come to me, and 

I will give thy flesh to the fowls of the air, and the 
beasts of the field." But, there were those who never 
trembled — who knew that there was a God in Israel, 
and who were willing to commit their cause " to his 
even-handed justice," and his Almighty power. That 
their great trust was in Him, is manifest from the re- 
marks that were continually breaking from the lips of 
the patriots. Thus, the patriot Hawley, when pressed 
upon the inequality of the contest, could only answer, 

II We must put to sea — Providence will bring us into 
port ;" and Patrick Henry, when urged upon the same 
topic, exclaimed, " True, true ; but there is a God 
above, who rules and overrules the destinies of na- 
tions." 



POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. 159 

Amid this appalling array that surrounded them, the 
first to enter the breach, sword in hand, was John Ad- 
ams — the vision of his youth at his heart, and his 
country in every nerve. On the 6th of May, he offer- 
ed, in committee of the Avhole, the significant resolu- 
tion, that the colonies should form governments inde- 
pendent of the crown. This was the harbinger of 
more important measures, and seems to have been put 
forward to feel the pulse of the House. The resolution 
after a bloody struggle, was adopted on the 15th of 
May following. On the 7th of June, by previous con- 
cert, Richard Henry Lee moved the great resolution of 
Independence, and was seconded by John Adams ; and 
" then came the tug of war." The debate upon it was 
continued from the 7th to the 10th, when the further 
consideration of it was postponed to the 1st of July, 
and at the same time a committee of five was appoint- 
ed to prepare, provisionally, a draft of a Declaration 
of Independence. At the head of this important com- 
mittee, which was then appointed by a vote of the 
House, although he was probably the youngest mem- 
ber, and one of the youngest men in the House, for he 
had served only part of the former session, and was 
but thirty-two years of age, stands the name of Tho- 
mas Jefferson — Mr. Adams stands next. And these 
two gentlemen having been deputed a sub-committee 
to prepare the draft, that draft, at Mr. Adams' ear- 
nest importunity, was prepared b}^ his more youth- 
ful friend. Of this transaction Mr. Adams is himself 
the historian, and the authorship of the Declaration, 
though once disputed, is thus placed forever beyond 
the reach of question. 

The final debate on the resolution was postponed 
as we have seen for nearly a month. In the mean 
time, all who were conversant with the course of 
action of all deliberative bodies, know how much is 
done by conversation among the members. It is not 
often, indeed, that proselytes are made on great ques- 
tions by public debate. On such questions, opinions 
are far more frequently formed in private, and so form- 



160 ELOQUENCE OF 

ed, that debate is seldom known to change them. 
Hence the value of the out-of-door talent of chamber 
consultation,, where objections, candidly stated, are 
candidly, calmly r and mildly discussed m r where neither 
pride, nor shame, nor anger y take part in the discussion, 
nor stand in the way of a correct conclusion : but 
where every thing being conducted frankly, delicately, 
respectfully, and kindly, the better cause and the better 
reasoner are almost always sure of success- In this 
kind of service, as well as in all that depended on the 
power of composition, Mr. Jefferson was as much a 
master-magician, as his eloquent friend Adams was in 
debate. They were, in truth, hemispheres of the same 
golden globe, and required only to be brought and put 
together, to prove that they were parts of the same 
heaven-formed whole. 

On the present occasion however, much still re- 
mained to be effected by debate. The first of July 
came, and the great debate on the resolution for Inde- 
pendence was resumed, with fresh spirit. The discus- 
sion was again protracted for two days, which, in addi- 
tion to the former three, were sufficient, in that age, tc 
call out all the speaking talent of the House. 



Mr. Jefferson has told us that " the Colossus of tha/ 
Congress — the great pillar of support to the Declara- 
tion of Independence, and its ablest advocate and 
champion on the floor of the House, was John Adams." 



The resolution having been carried, the draft of 
the Declaration came to be examined in detail ; and so 
faultless had it issued from the hands of its author, 
that it was adopted as he had prepared it, pruned only 
of a few of its brightest inherent beauties, through a 
prudent deference to some of the States. It was adopt- 
ed about noon of the Fourth, and proclaimed to an ex- 
ulting nation, on the evening of the same day. 



POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. i61 

That brave and animated band who signed it — 
where are they now ? What heart does not sink at the 
question ? One only survives : Charles Carroll, of 
Carrollton — a noble specimen of the age that has gone 
by, and now the single object of that age, on whom 
the veneration and prayers of his country are con- 
centrated. The rest have bequeathed to us the immor- 
tal record of their virtue and patriotism, and have as- 
cended to a brighter reward than man can confer. 

Of that instrument to which you listen with rever- 
ence on every returning anniversary of its adoption, 
" which forms the ornament of our halls, and the first 
political lesson of our children," it is needless to speak. 
You know that in its origin and object, it was a state- 
ment of the causes which had compelled our Fathers 
to separate themselves from Great Britain, and to de- 
clare these States free and independent. It was the 
voice of the American Nation addressing herself to the 
other Nations of the earth : and the address is, in all 
respects, worthy of this noble personification. It is the 
great argument of America in vindication of her course; 
and as Mr. Adams had been the Colossus of the cause 
on the floor of Congress, his illustrious friend, the au- 
thor of this instrument, may well be pronounced to have 
been its Colossus on the theatre of the world. 



It is a remark of one of the most elegant writers 
of antiquity, in the beautiful essay which he has left 
us "on Old Age," " that " to those who have not 
within themselves the resources of living well and 
happily, every age is oppressive ; but that to those 
who have, nothing is an evil which the necessity of 
nature brings along with it." How rich our two pa- 
triots were in these internal resources, you all know. 
How lightly they bore the burthen of increasing years 
was apparent from the cheerfulness and vigor with 
which, after having survived the age to which they pro- 
perly belonged, they continued to live among; their 

14* 



J 62 ELOQUENCE OF 

{iosterity. How happy they were in their domestic ie- 
ations, how heloved by their neighbors and friends, 
how revered and honored by their country, and by the 
friends of liberty in every quarter of the world, is a 
matter of open and public notoriety. Their houses 
were the constant and thronged resort of the votaries of 
virtue, and science, and genius, and patriotism, from 
every portion of the civilized globe : and no one ever left 
them without confessing that his highest expectations 
had been realized, and even surpassed, in the inter- 
view. 

Of " the chief of the Argonauts," as Mr. Jefferson 
♦so classically and so happily styled his illustrious 
friend of the North, it is my misfortune to be able to 
speak only by report. But every representation con- 
curs, in drawing the same pleasing and affecting pic- 
ture of the Roman simplicity in which that Father of 
his Country lived ; of the frank, warm, cordial, and 
elegant reception that he gave to all who approached 
him ; of the interesting kindness with which he dis- 
bursed the golden treasures of his experience, and shed 
around him the rays of his decending sun. His con- 
versation was rich in anecdote and characters of the 
times that were past ; rich in political and moral in- 
struction ; full of that best of wisdom, which is learnt 
from real life, and flowing from his heart with that 
warm and honest frankness, that fervour of feeling and 
force of diction, which so strikingly distinguished 
him in the meridian of his life. Many of us heard 
that simple and touching account given of a parting 
ecene with him, by one of our eloquent divines : When 
tie rose up from that little couch behind the door, on 
which he was wont to rest his aged and weary limbs, 
and with his silver locks hanging on each side of his 
honest face, stretched forth that pure hand, which was 
never soiled by a suspicion, and gave his kind and 
parting benediction. Such was the blissful and honor- 
ed retirement of the sage of Quincy. Happy the life 
which, verging upon a century, had met with but one 
serious political disappointment ! and even for that, he 



FOPULAB ASSEMBLIES. 163 

had lived to receive a golden atonement, " even in that 
quarter in which he had garnered up his heart." 

Let us now turn for a moment to the patriot of the 
South. The Roman moralist, in that great work which 
he has left for the government of man in all the offices 
of life, has descended even to prescribe the kind of habi- 
tation in which an honored and distinguished man should 
dwell. It should not, he says, be small, and mean, and 
sordid : nor, on the other hand T extended with profuse 
and wanton extravagance. It should be large enough 
to receive and accommodate the visiters which such a 
man never fails to attract, and suited in its ornaments, 
as well as its dimensions, to the character and fortune 
of the individual.* Monticello has now lost its great 
charm. Those of you who have not already visited 
it, will not be very apt to visit it hereafter ; and, 
from the feelings which you cherish for its depart- 
ed owner, I persuade myself that you will noc be 
displeased with a brief and rapid sketch of that 
abode of domestic bliss, that temple of science. Nor 
is it, indeed, foreign to the express purpose of this meet- 
ing, which, in looking to" his life and character," nat- 
urally embraces his home and his domestic habits. 
Can any thing be indifferent to us, which was so dear 
to him, and which was a subject of such just admira- 
tion to the hundreds and thousands that were continu- 
ally resorting to it, as to an object of pious pilgrimage ? 

The Mansion House at Monticello was built and fur- 
nished in the days of his prosperity. In its dimensions, 
its architecture, its arrangements and ornaments, it is 
such a one as became the character and fortune of the 
man. It stands upon an elliptic plain, formed by cutting 
down the apex of a mountain ; and, on the West, stretch- 
ing away to the North and the South, it commands a 
view of the Blue Ridge for a hundred and fifty miles, 
and brings under the eye one of the boldest and mosi 
beautiful horizons in the world ; while on the East, it 
presents an extent of prospect, bounded only by the 
spherical form of the earth, in which nature seems to 
sleep in eternal repose, as if to form one of her finest 



164 ELOQUENCE OF 

contrasts with the rude and rolling grandeur on the 
West. In the wide prospect, and scattered to the 
North and South, are several detached mountains, 
which contribute to animate and diversify this enchant- 
ing landscape : and among them to the South, Willis's 
Mountain, which is so interestingly depicted in his 
Notes. From this summit, the Philosopher was wont 
to enjoy that spectacle, among the sublimest of Nature's 
operations, the looming of the distant mountains ; and 
to watch the motions of the planets, and the greater re- 
volution of the celestial sphere. From this summit, 
too, the patriot could look down, with uninterrupted vis- 
ion, upon the wide expanse of the world around, for 
which he considered himself born ; and upward, to the 
open and vaulted heavens which he seemed to approach, 
as if to keep him continually in mind of his high re- 
sponsibility. It is, indeed, a prospect in which you see 
and feel, at once, that nothing mean or little could live. 
It is a scene fit to nourish those great and high-souled 
principles which formed the elements of his character, 
and was a most noble and appropriate post, for such a 
sentinel, over the rights and liberties of man. 

Approaching the house on the east, the visiter in- 
stinctively paused, to cast around one thrilling glance 
at this magnificient panorama : and then passed to the 
vestibule, where, if he had not been previously inform- 
ed, he would immediately perceive that he was enter- 
ing the house of no common man. In the spacious and 
lofty hall which opens before him, he marks no tawdry 
and unmeaning ornaments : but before, on the right, 
on the left, all around, the eye is struck'and gratified with 
objects of science and taste, so classed and arranged as 
to produce their finest effect. On one side, specimens 
of sculpture set out, in such order, as to exhibit at a 
coup d'ail, the historical progress of that art ; from the 
first rude attempts of the aborigines of our country, up 
to that exquisite and finished bust of the great patriot 
himself, from the master hand of Caracci. On the oth- 
er side, the visiter sees displayed a vast collection of 
specimens of Indian art, their paintings, weapons, orna- 



POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. 165 

merits, and manufactures ; on another, an array of the 
fossil productions of our country, mineral and animal; 
the polished remains of those colossal monsters that 
once trod our forests,, and are no more ; and a variega- 
ted display of the branching honors of those " monarchs 
of the waste/' that still people the wilds of the Ameri- 
can Continent. 

From this hall he was ushered into a noble saloon, 
from which the glorious landscape of the West again 
burst upon his view ; and which, within, is hung thick 
around with the finest productions of the pencil — his- 
torical paintings of the most sriking subjects from all 
countries and all ages ; the portraits of distinguished men 
and patriots, both of Europe and America, and medal- 
lions and engravings in endless profusion. 

While the visitor was yet lost in the contemplation 
of these treasures of the arts and sciences, he was star- 
tled by the approach of a strong and sprightly step, and 
turning with instinctive reverence to the door of entrance 
he was met by a tall, and animated, and stately figure 
of the patriot himself — his countenance beaming with 
intelligence and benignity, and his outstretched hand, 
with its strong and cordial pressure, confirming the 
courteous welcome of his lips. And then came that 
charm of manner and conversation that passes all de- 
scription — so cheerful, so unassuming, so free, and easy, 
and frank, and kind, and gay — that even the young, 
and over-awed, and embarrassed visitor at once forgot 
his fears, and felt himself by the side of an old and fa- 
miliar friend. There was no effort, no ambition in the 
conversation of the philosopher. It was as simple and 
unpretending as nature itself. And while in this easy 
manner he was pouring out instruction,, like light from 
an inexhaustible solar fountain, he seemed continually 
to be asking, instead of giving information. The visi- 
tor felt himself lifted by the contact, into a new and no- 
bler region of thought, and became surprised at his 
own buoyancy and vigor. He could not, indeed, help 
being astounded, now and then, at those transcendent 
leaps of the mind, which he saw made without the 



168 ELOQUENCE OF 

slightest exertion, and the ease with which this wonder- 
ful man played with subjects which he had been in the 
habit of considering among the argumenta crucis of the 
intellect. And then there seemed to be no end to his 
knowledge. He was a thorough master of every sub- 
ject that was touched. From the details of the hum- 
blest mechanic art, up to the highest summit of 
science, he was perfectly at his ease, and every where 
at home. There seemed to be no longer any terra in' 
cognita of the human understanding : for what the visi- 
tor had thought so, he now found reduced to a familiar 
garden walk ; and all this carried off so lightly, so play- 
fully, so gracefully, so engagingly, that he won every 
heart that approached him, as certainly as he astonish- 
ed every mind. 

Mr. Jefferson was wont to remark, that he never left 
the conversation of Dr. Franklin without carrying away 
with him something new and useful. How often, and 
how truly, has the same remark been made of him. 
Nor is this wonderful, when we reflect, that .that mind 
of matchless vigor and versatility had been all his life, 
intensely engaged in conversing with the illustrious 
dead, or following the march of science in every land, 
or bearing away, on its own steady and powerful wing, 
into new and unexplored regions of thought. 

Shall I follow him to the table of his elegant hospi- 
tality, and show him to you in the bosom of his enchant- 
ing family ? Alas ! those attic days are gone ; that 
sparkling eye is quenched ; that voice of pure and deli- 
cate affection, which ran with such brilliancy and effect 
through the whole compass of colloquial music, now 
bright with wit, now melting with tenderness, is hush- 
ed for ever in the grave ! 



These two great men, so eminently distinguished 
among the patriots of the Revolution, and so illustrious 
by their subsequent services, became still more so by 
having so long survived all that were most highly con- 
spicuous among their coevals. All the stars of first 



POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. 167 

magnitude in the equatorial and tropical regions had 
long since gone down, and still they remained. Still 
they stood full in view, like those two resplendent con- 
stellations near the opposite poles, which never set to 
the inhabitants of the neighboring zone. 

But they, too, were doomed at length to set : and 
such was their setting as no American bosom can ever 
forget ! 

In the midst of their fast decaying strength, and when 
it was seen that the approach of death was certain, their 
country and its glory still occupied their thoughts, and 
circulated with the last blood that was ebbing to their 
hearts. Those who surrounded the death bed of Mr. 
Jefferson report, that in the few short invervals of de- 
lirium that occurred, his mind manifestly relapsed to 
the age of the Revolution. He talked, in broken sen- 
tences, of the committee of safety, and the rest of that 
great machinery which he imagined to be still in action. 
One of his exclamations was, u Warn the Committee 
to be on their guard ;" and he instantly rose in his bed, 
with the help of his attendants, and went through the 
act of writing a hurried note. But these intervals were 
few and short. His reason was almost constantly upon 
her throne, and the only aspiration he was heard to 
breathe, was the prayer that he might live to see the 
fourth of July. When that day came, all that he was 
heard to whisper was the repeated ejaculation, — " Nune 
Domine dimittas" now, Lord, let thy servant depart in 
peace ! And the prayer of the patriot was heard and 
answered. 

The Patriarch of Quincy, too, with the same certain- 
ty of death before him, prayed only for the protraction 
of his life to the same day. His prayer was also heard : 
and when a messenger from the neighboring festivities, 
unapprized of his danger, was deputed to ask him for 
the honor of a toast, he showed the object on which his 
dying eyes were fixed, and exclaimed with energy, 
" Independence for ever !" His country first, his coun- 
try last, his country always ! 

• O save my country — heaven ! he said — and died f " 



1B8 ELOQUENCE OF 

Hitherto, fellow citizens, the Fourth of July had been 
celebrated among us only as the anniversary of our In- 
dependence, and its votaries had been merely human 
beings. But at its last recurrence — the great jubilee 
of the nation — the anniversary^ it may well be termed, of 
the liberty of man — Heaven itself mingled visibly in the 
celebration, and hallowed the day anew by a double 
apotheosis. Is there one among us to whom this lan- 
guage seems too strong ? Let him recall his own feel- 
ings-, and the objection will vanish. When the report 
ferst reached us, of the death of the great man whose 
residence was nearest, who among us was not struck 
with the circumstance that he should have been removed 
on the day of his own highest glory ? And who, after 
the first shock of the intelligence had passed, did not 
feel a thrill of mournful delight at the characteristic 
beauty of the close of such a life. But while our bosoms 
were yet swelling with admiration at this singularly 
beautiful coincidence, w r hen the second report immedi- 
ately followed, of the death of the great sage of Quitxy, 
on the same day — I appeal to yourselves — Is ther j a 
voice that was not hushed, is there a heart that did not 
quail, at this close manifestation of the hand of Heaven 
imour affairs! Philosophy, recovered of her surprise, 
may affect to treat the coincidence as fortuitous. But 
Philosophy herself was mute, at the moment, under the 
pressure of the feeling that these illustrious men had 
rather been translated, than had died. It is in vain to 
tell us that men die by thousands every day in the year, 
all over the world. The wonder is, not that two men 
have died on the same day, but that two such men, after 
having performed so many and such splendid services 
in the cause of liberty — after the multitude of other 
coincidences which seem to have linked their destinies 
together — after having lived so long together, the 
objects of their country's joint veneration — after having 
been spared to witness the great triumph of their toils 
at home — and looked together from Pisgah's top on the 
sublime effect of that grand impulse which they had 
given to the same glorious cause throughout the world, 



POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. 169 

should on this fiftieth anniversary of the day on which 
they had ushered that cause into light, be both caught 
up to Heaven, together, in the midst of their raptures ! 
Is there a being, of heart so obdurate and sceptical, as 
not to feel the hand and hear the voice of Heaven in 
this wonderful dispensation ? And may we not, with 
reverence, interpret its language ? Is it not this ? 
11 These are my beloved servants, in whom I am well 
pleased. They have finished the work for which I sent 
them into the world : and are now called to their re- 
ward. Go ye, and do likeivise /" 

One circumstance, alone, remains to be noticed. In 
a private memorandum found among some other obitu- 
ary papers and relics of Mr. Jefferson, is a suggestion, 
in case a memorial over him should ever be thought of, 
that a granite obelisk, of small dimensions, should be 
erected, with the following inscription : 

HERE WAS BURIED 

THOMAS JEFFERSON, 

Author of the Declaration of Independence, 

Of the Statutes of Virginia, for Religious Freedom, 

And Father of the University of Virginia. 

All the long catalogue of his great, and splendid, and 
glorious services, reduced to this brief and modest 
summary ! 

Thus lived, and thus died, our sainted Patriots ! May 
their spirits still continue to hover over their country- 
men, inspire all their councils, and guide them in the 
same virtuous and noble path ! And may that God, in 
whose hands are the issues of all things, confirm and 
perpetuate, to us, the inestimable boon, which, through 
their agency, he has bestowed ; and make our Colum- 
bia the bright exemplar for all the struggling sons of 
liberty around the globe I 



15 



170 ELOQUENCE OF 

Description of General Conway's Situation on the 
Repeal of the American Stamp Act. 

1 will likewise do justice, I ought to do it, to the 
honorable gentleman who led us in this house.* Far 
from the duplicity wickedly charged on him, he acted 
his part with alacrity and resolution. We all felt in- 
spired by the example he gave us, down even to myself, 
the weakest in that phalanx. I declare for one, I knew 
well enough, it could not be concealed from any body, 
the true state of things ; but, in my life, I never came 
with so much spirits into this house. It was a time for 
a man to act in. We had powerful enemies ; but we 
had faithful and determined friends, and a glorious 
cause. We had a great battle to fight ; but we had 
the means of fighting ; not as now, when our arms are 
tied behind us. We did fight that day and conquer. 

I remember, Sir, with a melancholy pleasure, the 
situation of the honorable gentleman* who made the 
motion for the repeal ; in that crisis, when the whole 
trading interest of this empire, crammed into your lob- 
bies, with a trembling and. anxious expectation, waited, 
almost to a winter's return of light, their fate from your 
resolutions. When, at length, you had determined in 
their favor, and your doors, thrown open, showed them 
the figure of their deliverer in the well-earned triumph 
of his important victory, from the whole of that grave 
multitude there arose an involuntary burst of gratitude 
and transport. They jumped upon him like children 
on a long absent father. They clung about him as 
captives about their redeemer. All England, all Ameri- 
ca, joined in his applause. Nor did he seem insensible 
to the best of all earthly rewards, the love and admira- 
tion of his fellow citizens. Hope elevated and joy 
brightened his crest. I stood near him ; and his face, 
to use the expression of the scripture of the first martyr. 
" his face was as if it had been the face of an angel." 



General Conway. 



POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. 171 

I do not know how others feel ; but if I had stood in 
that situation, I never would have exchanged it for all 
that kings in their profusion could bestow. 



DESCRIPTION OF JUNIUS. 

Where, then, Sir, shall we look for the origin of this 
relaxation of the laws and of all government ? How 
comes this Junius to have broken through the cobwebs 
of the law, and to range uncontrolled, unpunished, 
through the land? The myrmidons of the court have 
been long, and are still, pursuing him in vain. They 
will not spend their time upon me, or you, or you : no ; 
they disdain such vermin, when the mighty boar of the 
forest, that has broken through all their toils, is before 
them. But, what will all their efforts avail ? No sooner 
has he wounded one, than he lays down another dead 
at his feet. For my part, when I saw his attack upon 
the King, I own my blood ran cold. I thought he had 
ventured too far, and that there was an end of his tri- 
umphs ; not that he had not asserted many truths. 
Yes, Sir, there are in that composition many bold 
truths by which a wise prince might profit. It was the 
rancour and venom with which I was struck. In these 
respects the North Briton is as much inferior to him, as 
in strength, wit, and judgment. But while I expected 
from this daring flight his final ruin and fall, behold 
him rising still higher, and coming down souse upon 
both houses of parliament. Yes, he did make you his 
quarry, and you still bleed from the wounds of his talons. 
You crouched, and still crouch beneath his rage. Nor 
has he dreaded the terror of your brow, Sir ; he has 
attacked even you — he has — and I believe you have no 
reason to triumph in the encounter. In short, after 
carrying away our royal eagle in his pounces, and 
dashing him against a rock, he has laid you prostrate. 
King, Lords, and Commons, are but the sport of his 
fury. Were he a member of this house, what might 
not be expected from his knowledge, his firmness, and 



172 ELOQUENCE OF 

integrity ! He would be easily known by his contempt 
of all danger, by his penetration, by his vigor. Nothing 
would escape hi? vigilance and activity; bad ministers 
could conceal nothing from his sagacity ; nor could 
promises nor threats induce him to conceal any thing 
from the public. 



LAMENTATION FOR THE LOSS OF HIS SON. 
Had it pleased God to continue to me the hopes of 
succession, I should have been according to my medi- 
ocrity, and the mediocrity of the age I live in, a sort of 
founder of a family ; I should have left a son, who, in 
all the points in which personal merit can be viewed, 
in science, in erudition, in genius, in taste, in honor, in 
generosity, in humanity, in every liberal sentiment, and 
every liberal accomplishment, would not have shown 
himself inferior to the duke of Bedford, or to any of 
those whom he traces in his line. 



But a disposer whose power we are little able to re- 
sist, and whose wisdom it behoves us not at all to dis- 
pute, has ordained it in another manner, and, whatever 
my querulous weakness might suggest, a far better. 
The storm has gone over me ; and I lie like one of 
those old oaks which the late hurricane has scattered 
about me. I am stripped of all my honors ; I am torn 
up by the roots, and lie prostrate on the earth ! There, 
and prostrate there, I most unfeignedly recognize the 
divine justice, and in some degree submit to it. But 
whilst I humble myself before God, I do not know that 
it is forbidden to repel the attacks of unjust and incon- 
siderate men. The patience of Job is proverbial. 
After some of the convulsive struggles of our irritable 
nature, he submitted himself, and repented in dust and 
ashes. But even so, I do not find him blamed for rep- 
rehending, and with a considerable degree of verbal 
asperity, those ill-natured neighbors of his, who visited 



POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. 173 

his dunghill, to read moral, political, and economical 
lectures on his misery. I am alone. I have none to 
meet my enemies in the gate. Indeed, my lord, I 
greatly deceive myself, if in this hard season I would 
give a peck of refuse wheat for all that is called fame 
and honor in the world. This is the appetite but of a 
few. It is a luxury ; it is a privilege ; it is an indul- 
gence for those who are at their ease. But we are all 
of us made to shun disgrace, as we are made to shrink 
from pain, and poverty, and disease. It is an instinct : 
and, under the direction of reason, instinct is always in 
the right. I live in an inverted order. They who 
ought to have succeeded me have gone before me. 
They who should have been to me as posterity are in 
the place of ancestors. I owe to the dearest relation, 
which ever must subsist in memory, that act of piety, 
which he would have performed to me ; I owe it to him 
to show that he was not descended, as the duke of Bed- 
ford would have it, from an unworthy parent. 



CHARACTER OF MR. FOX IN SUPPORT OF HIS INDIA 

EILL. 

And now, having done my duty to the bill, let me 
say a word to the author. I should leave him to his 
own noble sentiments, if the unworthy and illiberal lan- 
guage with which he has been treated, beyond all ex- 
ample of parliamentary liberty, did not make a few 
words necessary ; not so much in justice to him, as to> 
my own feelings. I must say then, that it will be a 
distinction honorable to the age, that the rescue of the 
greatest number of the human race that ever were so 
grievously oppressed, from the greatest tyranny that 
was ever exercised, has fallen to the lot of abilities and 
dispositions equal to the task ; that it has fallen to one 
who has the enlargement to comprehend, the spirit to 
undertake, and the eloquence to support, so great a mea- 
sure of hazardous benevolence. His spirit is not ow« 
ing to his ignorance of the state of men and t&3£* 

15* 



174 ELOQUENCE OF 

He well knows what snares are spread about his path, 
from personal animosity, from court intrigues, and pos- 
sibly from popular delusion. But he has put to hazard 
his ease, his security, his interest, his power, even his 
darling popularity, for the benefit of a people whom he 
has never seen. This is the road that all heroes have 
trod before him. He is traduced and abused for his sup- 
posed motives. He will remember, that obloquy is a 
necessary ingredient in the composition of all true glo- 
ry : he will remember, that it was not only in the Ko- 
man customs, but it is in the nature and constitution of 
things, that calumny and abuse are essential parts of 
triumph. These thoughts will support a mind, which 
only exists for honor, under the burden of temporary 
reproach. He is doing, indeed, a great good ; such as 
rarely falls to the lot, and almost as rarely coincides with 
the desires of any man. Let him use his time. Let him 
give the whole length of the reins to his benevolence. He 
is now on a great eminence, where the eyes of mankind 
are turned to him. He may live long, he may do much. 
But here is the summit. He never can exceed what 
Le does this day. 

He has faults ; but they are faults that though they 
may in a small degree tarnish the lustre, and sometimes 
impede the march of his abilities, have nothing in them 
to extinguish the fire of great virtues. In those faults 
there is no mixture of deceit, of hypocrisy, of pride, of 
ferocity, of complexional despotism, or want of feeling 
for the distresses of mankind. 



I confess, I anticipate with joy the reward of those, 
vrhose whole consequence, power, and authority, exist 
only for the benefit of mankind; and I carry my mind 
to all the people, and all the names and descriptions, 
that relieved by this bill, will bless the labours of this 
parliament, and the confidence which the best House 
of Commons has given to him who the best deserves it- 
The little cavils of party will not be heard, where free- 
dom and happiness will be felt. There is not a tongue. 



POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. 176 

a nation, or religion in India, which will not bless the 
presiding care and manly beneficence of this House, 
and of him who proposes to you this great work. Your 
names will never be separated before the throne of the 
Divine Goodness, in whatever language, or with what- 
ever rites, pardon is asked for sin, and reward for those 
who imitate the Godhead in his universal bounty to 
his creatures. These honors you deserve, and they will 
surely be paid, when all the jargon of influence and 
party, and patronage, are swept into oblivion. 



CHARACTER OF LORD CHATHAM. 

<The secretary stood alone. Modern degeneracy had 
not reached him. Original and unaccommodating, the 
features of his character had the hardihood of antiqui- 
ty. His august mind overawed majesty, and one of 
his sovereigns thought royalty so impaired in his presence 
that he conspired to remove him, in order to be reliev 
ed from his superiority. No state chicanery, no narrow 
system of vicious politics, no idle contest for ministeri- 
al victories, sunk him to the vulgar level of the great j 
but overbearing, persuasive, and impracticable, his ob- 
ject was England, his ambition was fame. Without 
dividing, he destroyed party ; without corrupting, he 
made a venal age unanimous. France sunk beneath 
him. With one hand he smote the house of Bourbon, 
and wielded in the other the democracy of England, 
The sight of his mind was infinite ; and his schemes 
were to affect, not England, not the present age only, 
but Europe and posterity. Wonderful w r ere the means 
by which these schemes were accomplished ; always sea- 
sonable, always adequate, the suggestions of an under- 
standing animated by ardour, and enlightened by prophe- 
cy. The ordinary feelings which make life amiable and 
indolent, were unknown to him. No domestic difficul- 
ties, no domestic weakness reached him ; but aloof from 
the sordid occurrences of life, and unsullied by its in- 



176 ELOQUENCE OF 

tercourse, he came occasionally into our system, to 
counsel and to decide. 

A character so exalted, so strenuous, so various, so 
authoritative, astonished a corrupt age, and the treasu- 
ry trembled at the the name of Pitt through all her 
classes of venality. Corruption imagined, indeed, that 
she had found defects in this statesman, and talked 
much of the inconsistency of his glory, and much of the 
ruin of his victories ; but the history of his country and 
the calamities of the enemy, answered and refuted her. 

Nor were his political abilities his only talents : his 
eloquence was an sera in the senate, peculiar and spon- 
taneous, familiarly expressing gigantic sentiments and 
instinctive wisdom ; not like the torrent of Demosthenes, 
or the splendid conflagration of Tully ; it resembled 
sometimes the thunder, and sometimes the music of the 
spheres. Like Murray, he did not conduct the under- 
standing through the painful subtilty of argumentation ; 
nor was he like Townshend, for ever on the rack of ex- 
ertion; but rather lightened upon the subject, and 
reached the point by the flashings of the mind, which, 
like those of his eye, were felt, but could not be fol- 
lowed. 

Upon the whole, there was in this man something 
that could create, subvert, or reform ; an understanding, 
a spirit, and an eloquence, to summon mankind to so- 
ciety, or to break the bonds of slavery asunder, and to 
rule the wilderness of free minds with unbounded au- 
thority ; something that could establish or overwhelm 
empire, and strike a blow in the world that should re- 
sound through the universe. 



INVECTIVE AGAINST MR. CORRY, IN REPLY TO HIS 
ASPERSIONS. 

My guilt or innocence have little to do with the ques- 
tion here. — I rose with the rising fortunes of my coun- 
try — I am willing to die with her expiring liberties. 
To the voice of the people I will bow, but never shall 



POPULAR ASSEB1BLIES. 177 

I submit to the calumnies of an individual hired to be- 
tray them and slander me. The indisposition of my 
body has left me perhaps no means but that of lying 
down with fallen Ireland and recording upon her tomb 
my dying testimony against the flagitious corruption 
that has murdered her independence. The right hon- 
orable gentleman has said that this was not my place — 
that instead of having a voice in the councils of my 
country, I should now stand a culprit at her bar — at the 
bar of a court of criminal judicature, to answer for my 
treasons. The Irish people have not so read my histo- 
ry — but let that pass — if I am what he has said I am, 
the people are not therefore to forfeit their constitution. 
In point of argument the attack is bad — in point of 
taste or feeling, if he had either, it is worse — in point 
of fact it is false, utterly and absolutely false, as rancorous 
a falsehood as the most malignant motives could suggest 
to the prompt sympathy of a shameless and a venal de- 
fence. The right honorable gentleman has suggested 
examples which I should have shunned, and examples 
which I should have followed. I shall never follow his, 
and I have ever avoided it. I shall never be ambitious 
to purchase public scorn by private infamy — the light- 
er characters of the model have as little chance of 
weaning me from the habits of a life spent, if not ex- 
hausted, in the cause of my native land. Am I to re- 
nounce those habits now for ever, and at the beck of 
whom ? I should rather say of what — half a minister 
— half a monkey — a 'prentice politician, and a master 
coxcomb. He has told you that what he said of me 
here, he would say any where. I believe he would say 
thus of me in anyplace where he thought himself safe in 
saying it. — Nothing can limit his calumnies but his 
fears — in parliament he has calumniated me to-night, 
in the king's courts he would calumniate me to-mor- 
row, but had he said or dared to insinuate one-half as 
much elsewhere, the indignant spirit of an honest man 
would have answered the vile and venal slanderer with 
— a blow; 



178 ELOQUENCE OF 

EXTRACT FROM A SPEECH AGAINST WARREN 
HASTINGS. 

Had a stranger, at this time, gone into the province 
of Oude, ignorant of what had happened since the 
death of Sujuh Dowla, that man, who, with a savage 
heart, had still great lines of character, and who with 
all his ferocity in war, had still, with a cultivating 
hand, preserved to his country the riches which it de- 
rived from benignant skies and a prolific soil. — If this 
stranger, ignorant of all that had happened in the short 
interval, and observing the wide and general devasta- 
tion, and all the horrors of the scene — of plains unclothed 
and brown — of vegetation burnt up and extinguished — 
of villages depopulated and in ruins — of temples un- 
roofed and perishing — of reservoirs broken down and 
dry — he would naturally inquire what war had thus 
laid waste the fertile fields of this once beautiful and 
opulent country — what civil dissensions have happen- 
ed, thus to tear asunder and separate the happy socie- 
ties that once possessed those villages — what disputed 
succession — what religious rage has, with unholy vio- 
lence, demolished those temples, and disturbed fervent, 
but unobtruding piety in the exercise of its duties ? — 
What merciless enemy has thus spread the horrors of 
fire and sword — what severe visitation of Providence 
has dried up the fountain, and taken from the face of 
the earth every vestige of verdure ? Or rather, what 
monsters have stalked over the country, tainting and 
poisoning, with pestiferous breath, what the voracious 
appetite could not devour ? To such questions, what 
must be the answer ? No wars have ravaged these 
lands, and depopulated these villages — no civil discord 
has been felt — no disputed succession — no religious rage 
— no cruel enemy — no affliction of Providence, which, 
while it scourged for a moment, cut off the sources of 
resuscitation — no voracious and poisoning monsters — 
no: all this has been accomplished by the friendship, 
generosity and kindness of the English nation. 

They have embraced us with their protecting arms, 
and lo \ these are the fruits of their alliance. What, 



POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. 179 

then, shall we be told, that under such circumstances, 
the exasperated feelings of a whole people thus goaded 
and spurred on to clamor and resistance, were excited 
by the poor and feeble influence of the Begums ? — 
When we hear the description of the paroxysm, fever, 
and delirium, into which despair had thrown the na- 
tives, when on the banks of the polluted Ganges, pant- 
ing for death, they tore more widely open the lips of 
their gaping wounds, to accelerate their dissolution; 
and while their blood was issuing, presented their 
ghastly eyes to heaven, breathing their last and fervent 
prayer, that the dry earth might not be suffered to 
drink their blood, but that it might rise up to the throne 
of God, and rouse the eternal Providence to avenge 
the wrongs of their country. 



The counsel, in recommending attention to the pub- 
lic in preference to the private letters, had remarked, 
in particular, that one letter should not be taken as evi- 
dence, because it was manifestly and abstractedly pri- 
vate, as it contained in one part the anxieties of Mr. 
Middleton for the illness of his son. This was a sin- 
gular argument indeed ; and the circumstance, in his 
mind, merited strict observation, though not in the 
view in which it was placed by the counsel. It went 
to show that some at least of those concerned in these 
transactions, felt the force of those ties, which their 
efforts were directed to tear asunder ; that those who 
could ridicule the respective attachment of a mother and 
a son ; who would prohibit the reverence of the son to 
the mother who had given him life ; — who could deny 
to maternal debility the protection which filial tender* 
ness should afford ; — were y r et sensible of the straining 
of those chords by which they were united. There was 
something connected with this transaction so horrible 
and so loathsome, as to excite the most contemptuous 
disgust. If it were not a part of his duty, it would be 
superfluous to speak of the sacredness of the ties 



180 ELOQUENCE OF 

which those aliens to feeling — those apostates to hu- 
manity had thus divided. In such an assembly as that 
which I have the honor of addressing, there is not an 
eye but must dart reproof at this conduct ; not a heart 
but must anticipate its condemnation. " Filial Piety !" 
It is the primal bond of society — it is that instinctive 
principle, which, panting for its proper good, soothes, 
unbidden, each sense and sensibility of man ! — it now 
quivers on every lip ! — it now beams from every eye ! 
— it is an emanation of that gratitude, which softening 
under the sense of recollected good, is eager to own 
the vast countless debt it ne'er, alas ! can pay, for so 
many long years of unceasing solicitudes, honorable 
self-denials, life-preserving cares ! — it is that part of 
our practice, where duty drops its awe ! — where reve- 
rence refines into love ! — it asks no aid of memory ! — 
it needs not the deductions of reason ! — pre-existing, 
paramount over all, whether law, or human rule, 
few arguments can increase, and none can diminish it ! 
— it is the sacrament of our nature ! — not only the du- 
ty but the indulgence of man — it is his first great pri- 
vilege — it is amongst his last most endearing delights T 
—it causes the bosom to glow with reverberated love * 
— it requites the visitations of nature, and returns the 
blessings that have been received ! — it fires emotion 
into vital principle — it renders habituated instinct into 
a master-passion — sways all the sweetest energies of 
man — hangs over each vicissitude of all that must pass 
away — aids the melancholy virtues in their last sad 
tasks of life, to cheer the langour of decrepitude and 
age — explores the thought — elucidates the aching eye ! 
— and breathes sweet consolation even in the awful 
moment of dissolution ! 



A Speech delivered at Cheltenham, on the 7th Oct. 1819. 
at the Fourth Anniversary of the Gloucester Mission' 
ary Society. 

Mr. Chairman — After the eloquence with which so 
many gentlemen have gratified and delighted this most 



POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. 18! 

respectable assembly, and after the almost inspired ad- 
dress of one of them, I feel ashamed of having acce- 
ded to the wishes of the committee by proposing the 
resolution which I have the honor to submit. I should 
apologize, sir, for even the few moments intrusion 
which I mean to make upon this meeting, did I not feel 
that I had no right to consider myself as quite a stran- 
ger; did I not feel that the subject unites us all into 
one great social family, and gives to the merest so- 
journer the claim of a brother and a friend. At a time 
like this, perhaps, when the infidel is abroad, and the 
atheist and disbeliever triumph in their blasphe- 
my, it behoves the humblest Christian to range him- 
self beneath the banners of his faith, and attest, even 
by his martyrdom, the sincerity of his allegiance. 
When I consider the source from whence Christianity 
sprung — the humility of its origin — the poverty of its 
disciples — the miracles of its creation — the mighty sway 
it has acquired, not only over the civilized world, but 
which your missions are hourly extending over lawless, 
mindless, and imbruted regions — I own the awful pre- 
sence of the Godhead— nothing less than a Divinity 
could have done it ! The powers, the prejudices, the 
superstition of the earth, were all in arms against it ; it 
had nor sword nor sceptre — its founder was in rags — 
its apostles were lowly fishermen — its inspired prophets, 
lowly and uneducated — its cradle was a manger — its 
home a dungeon — its earthly diadem a crown of thorns ! 
And yet, forth it went — that lowly, humble, persecuted 
spirit — and the idols of the heathen fell ; and the 
thrones of the mighty trembled ; and paganism saw 
her peasants and her princes kneel down and worship 
the unarmed conqueror ! If this be not the work of 
the Divinity, then I yield to the reptile ambition of the 
athiest. I see no God above — I see no government 
below ; and I yield my consciousness of an immortal 
soul to his boasted fraternity with the worm that per- 
ishes ! But, sir, even when I thus concede to him the 
divine origin of our Christian faith, I arrest him upon 
worldly principles — I desire him to produce from ali 

16 



182 ELOQUENCE OF 

the wisdom of the earth, so pure a system of practical 
morality — a code of ethics more sublime in its concep- 
tion — more simple in its means — more happy and more 
powerful in its operation : and if he cannot do so, I 
then say to him, Oh ! in the name of your own darling 
policy, filch not its guide from youth, its shield from 
manhood, and its crutch from age ! Though the light 
I follow may lead me astray, still I think it is light 
from Heaven ! The good, and great, and wise, are my 
companions — my delightful hope is harmless, if not 
holy ; and wake me not to a disappointment, which in 
your tomb of annihilation, I shall not taste hereafter ! 
To propagate the sacred creed — to teach the ignorant 
— to enrich the poor — to illumine this world with the 
splendors of the next — to make men happy you have 
never seen — and to redeem millions you can never 
know — you have sent your hallowed missionaries for- 
ward ; and never did a holier vision rise, than that of 
this celestial and glorious embassy. Methinks I see 
the band of willing exiles bidding farewell perhaps for- 
ever, to their native country; foregoing home, and 
friends and luxury — to tempt the savage sea, or men 
more savage than the raging element — to dare the po- 
lar tempest, and the tropic fire, and often doomed by 
the forfeit of their lives to give their precepts a proof 
and an expiation. It is quite delightful to read over 
their reports, and see the blessed products of their la- 
bors. They leave no clime unvisited, no peril unen- 
countered. In the South Sea Islands they found the 
population almost eradicated by the murder of idola- 
try. " It was God Almighty," says the royal convert 
of Otaheite, " who sent your mission to the remainder 
of my people /" I do not wish to shock your Christian 
ears with the cruelties from which you have redeemed 
these islands. Will you believe it, that they had been 
educated in such cannibal ferocity, as to excavate the 
earth, and form an oven of burning stones, into which 
they literally threw their living infants, and gorged 
their infernal appetites with the flesh ! Will you be- 
lieve it, that they thought murder grateful to the God of 



POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. 183 

Mercy ! — and the blood of his creatures as their best 
libation ! In nine of these islands those abominations 
are extinct — infanticide is abolished — their prisoners 
are exchanged — society is now cemented by the bond 
of brotherhood, and the accursed shrines that streamed 
with human gore, and blazed with human unction, now 
echo the songs of peace, and the sweet strains of pie- 
ty. In India, too, where Providence for some special 
purpose, permits these little insular specks to hold 
above one hundred millions in subjection — phenomena 
scarcely to be paralleled in history — the spell of 
Brahma is dissolving — the chains of Caste are falling 
off — the wheels of Juggernaut are scarce ensanguined 
— the horrid custom of self-immolation is daily disap- 
pearing — and the sacred stream of Jordan mingles 
with the Ganges. Even the rude soldier, 'mid the din of 
arms, and the license of the camp, "makes," says our 
missionary, " the Bible the inmate of his knapsack, 
and the companion of his pillow." Such has been 
Jie success of your missions in that country, that one of 
your own judges has publicly avowed, that those who 
left India some years ago can form no just idea of what 
now exists there. Turn from these lands to that of 
Africa, a name I now can mention without horror. In 
sixteen of their towns and many of their Islands, we 
see the sun of Christianity arising, and as it rises, the 
whole spectral train of superstition vanishing in air. 
Agriculture and civilization are busy in the desert, and 
the poor Hottentot kneeling at the altar, implores his 
God to remember not the slave trade. If any thing, 
sir, could add to the satisfaction that I feel, it is the 
consciousness that knowledge and Christianity are ad- 
advancing, hand in hand, and that wherever I see your 
missionaries journeying, I see schools rising up, as it 
were, the landmark of their progress. And who can 
tell what the consequences of this may be in after 
ages ? Who can tell whether those remote regions 
may not hereafter become the rivals of European im- 
provement ? Who shall place a ban upon the intellect 
derived from the Almighty* Who shall say that the 



184 ELOQUENCE OP 

future poet shall not fascinate the wilds, and that the 
philosopher and the statesman shall not repose togeth- 
er beneath the shadow of their palm trees ? This may- 
be visionary, but surely, in a moral point of view, the 
advantages of education are not visionary. [A long 
and continued burst of applause followed this passage, 
and prevented the reporter from detailing some most ex- 
cellent remarks on the advantages of the cultivation of 
the human mind.] These, sir — the propagation of the 
gospel — the advancement of science and industry — 
the perfection of the arts — the diffusion of knowledge 
— the happiness of mankind here and hereafter — these 
are the blessed objects of your missionaries, and com- 
pared with these, all human ambition sinks into 
the dust : the ensanguined chariot of the conqueror 
pauses — the sceptre falls from the imperial grasp — the 
blossom withers even in the patriot's garland. But 
deeds like these require no panegyric — in the words of 
that dear friend whose name can never die — [In this 
allusion to his lamented friend. Cur ran, Mr. Phillips 9 
feelings were evidently much affected] — " They are re- 
corded in the heart from whence they sprung, and in 
the hour of adverse vicissitude, if it should ever arrive, 
sweet will be the odor of their memory, and precious 
the balm of their consolation." 

Before I sit down, sir, I must take the liberty of say- 
ing that the principal objection which I have heard 
raised against your institution is with me the principal 
motive of my admiration — I allude, sir, to the diffu- 
sive principles on which it is founded. I have seen too 
much, sir, of sectarian bigotry — as a man, I abhor it — 
as a Christian, I blush at it — it is hot only degrading 
to the religion that employs even the shadow of intol- 
erance, but it is an impious despotism in the government 
that countenances it. These are my opinions, and 
I will not suppress them. Our religion has its various 
denominations, but they are struggling to the same 
mansion, though by different avenues, and when I meet 
them on their way — I care not whether they be pro- 
testant or presbyterian, dissenter or catholic, I know 



POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. 185 

them as Christians, and I will embrace them as my 
brethren. I hail, then, the foundation of such a so- 
ciety as this — I hail it, in many respects, as an happy 
omen— 1 hail it as an augury of that coming day when 
the bright bow of Christianity, commencing in the Hea- 
vens, and encompassing the earth, shall include the 
children of every clime and color beneath the arch of 
its promise and the glory of its protection. 



ON EDUCATION. 

Education is a companion which no misfortunes can 
depress, no clime destroy, no enemy alienate, no des- 
potism enslave; at home a friend, abroad an introduc- 
tion, in solitude a solace, in society an ornament ; it 
chastens vice, it guides virtue, it gives at once a grace 
and government to genius. Without it, what is man ? 
A. splendid slave ! a reasoning savage, vacillating be- 
tween the dignity of an intelligence derived from God, 
and the degradation of passions participated with 
brutes ; and in the accident of their alternate ascen- 
dancy shuddering at the terrors of an hereafter, or em- 
bracing the horrid hope of annihilation. What is this 
wondrous world of his residence ? 

A mighty maze, and all without a plan; 

a dark, and desolate, and dreary cavern, without 
wealth, or ornament, or order. But light up within it 
the torch of knowledge, and how wondrous the tran- 
sition ! The seasons change, the atmosphere breathes,, 
the landscape lives, earth unfolds its fruits, ocean 
rolls in its magnificence, the heavens display their 
constellated canopy, and the grand animated specta- 
cle of nature rises revealed before him, its varieties 
regulated, and its mysteries resolved ! The phenomena 
which bewilder, the prejudices which debase, the su- 
perstitions which enslave, vanish before education 

16 # 



186 ELOQUENCE OF 

Like the holy symbol which blazed upon the cloud 
before the hesitating Constantine, if man follow but 
its precepts, purely, it will not only lead him to the 
victories of this world, but open the very portals of 
Omnipotence for his admission. 



SUBJECTS DESCRIPTIVE AND MISCELLA- 
NEOUS. 



THE SELF-INFLICTING TORMENTS OF THE GAMESTER. 

No man who has not felt, can possibly image to him- 
self the tortures of a gamester. Of a gamester like 
me, who played for the improvement of his fortune, who 
played with the recollection of a wife and children, 
dearer to him than the blood that bubbled through the 
arteries of his heart ; who might be said like the sava- 
ges of ancient Germany, to make these relations the 
stake for which he threw ; who saw all his own happi- 
ness and all theirs, through the long vista of life, de- 
pending on the turn of a card ! All bodily racks and 
torments are nothing compared with certain states of 
the human mind. The gamester would be the most 
pitiable, if he were not the most despicable creature 
that exists. Arrange ten bits of painted paper in a 
certain order, and he is ready to go wild with the ex- 
travagance of his joy. He is only restrained by some 
remains of shame from dancing about the room, and 
displaying the vileness of his spirit by every sort of 
freak and absurdity. At another time, when his hopes 
have been gradually worked up into a paroxysm, an 
unexpected turn arrives, and he is made the most mis- 
erable of men. Never shall I cease to recollect the sen- 
sation which I have repeatedly felt, m the instantane- 
ous sinking of the spirits, the conscious fire that spread 
over my visage, the anger in my eye, the burning dry- 
ness of my throat, the sentiment that in a moment waa 
ready to overwhelm with curses the cards, the stake, 



188 SUBJECTS DESCRIPTIVE 

my own existence, and all mankind. How every malig- 
nant and insufferable passion seemed to rush upon my 
soul ! What nights of dreadful solitude and despair 
did I repeatedly pass during the progress of my ruin ! 
It was the night of the soul ! My mind was wrapped 
in a gloom that could not be pierced ! My heart was 
oppressed with a weight that no power appeared equal 
to remove ! My eyelids seemed to press downward 
with an invincible burthen ! My eyeballs were ready 
to start and crack their sockets ! I lay motionless, the 
victim of ineffable horror ! 



A description of the field of battle, where Varus, the 
Rowan General and his army, had been destroyed by 
Arminius. Also of the tribute of respect paid by Ger- 
manicus and his legions to the scattered wnd unburi* 
ed bones of their slaughtered countrymen. 

Touched by this affecting circumstance, Germanicus 
resolved to pay the last human office to the relics of 
that unfortunate commander and his slaughtered sol- 
diers. The same tender sentiment diffused itself 
throughout the army. Some felt the touch of nature 
for their relations, others for their friends, and all la- 
mented the disasters of war, and the wretched lot of hu- 
man kind. The army marched through a gloomy soli- 
tude ; the place presented an awful spectacle, and the 
memory of a tragical event increased the horror of the 
scene. The first camp of Varus appeared in view, the 
extent of the ground, and the three different enclosures 
for the eagles, still distinctly seen, left no doubt that 
the whole was the work of the three legions. 

Farther on were traced the ruins of a rampart and 
the hollow of a ditch well nigh filled up. This was 
supposed to be the spot where the few who escaped the 
general massacre, made their last effort, and perished 
in the attempt. The plains around were white with 
bones : on some places thinly scattered, in others lying 



AND MISCELLANEOUS. 189 

in heaps, as the men happened to fall in flight, or in a 
body, resisted to the last ; fragments of javelins, and 
the limbs of horses lay scattered about the field : human 
sculls were seen upon the trunks of trees. In the adja- 
cent woods stood the savage altars where the tribunes, 
and the principal centurions were offered up a sacrifice 
with barbarous rites. Some of the soldiers who survived 
that dreadful day, and afterwards broke their chains, 
related circumstantially several particulars. " Here the 
commanders of the legions were put to the sword ; on 
that spot the eagles were seized ; there Varus received 
his first wound, and this the place where he gave him- 
self the mortal stab, and died by his own sword. 

" Yonder mound was the tribunal from which Armini - 
us harangued his countrymen. Here he fixed his gib" 
bets , there he dug his funeral trenches, and in that quar- 
ter he offered every mark of scorn and insolence to the 
Roman Eagles" Six years had elapsed since the over- 
throw of Varus, and in the same spot the Roman army 
collected the bones of their slaughtered countrymen. 
Whether they were burying the remains of strangers 
or of their own friends, no man knew ; all, however, 
considered themselves as performing the last obsequies 
to their kindred and their brother soldiers. While em- 
ployed in this pious office, their hearts were torn with 
contending passions ; by turns oppressed with grief, and 
burning for revenge. 

A monument to the memory of the dead was raised 
with turf; Germanicus, with his own hand, laid the 
first sod ; discharging at once a tribute due to the le- 
gions, and sympathizing with the rest of the army. 



EULOGY ON GENERAL WASHINGTON. 

In contemplating the revolution of this country, the 
mind naturally recurs to the means by which so great 
an object was accomplished, and its eye at once rests 
upon Washington ! A man, a soldier, and a patriot— 
"■ take him fox all in all," we " shall not look upon his 



190 SUBJECTS DESCRIPTIVE 

like again." Between Cincinnatus and him, many 
characteristic features of resemblance maybe distinctly 
traced ; — that admirable Roman, after having success- 
fully fought his country's battles, turned the sword of 
death into the life-providing plough share, and laying 
down all dignity, save that of human nature, retired to 
the cultivation of his fields. So did the great, the more, 
than great, the good Washington. Cincinnatus posses- 
sed the amor patriae in no less a degree ; but his merit 
in the possession was certainly less for with the first breath 
he drew, he inhaled the air of freedom, and the first 
drop of milk that sustained him, was strongly impreg- 
nated with the love of liberty ! In him, not to have 
been a republican, had been criminal. Not so was it 
with Columbia's hero. Although born, fostered, and 
educated under a monarchy, yet, when the great, the 
paramount call of country, aroused him to the assertion 
of her rights, he arose a colossal pillar to perpetuate to 
future ages the glory of the emancipation of America ! 
But why should such a feeble pen as mine attempt an 
eulogy ? His memory is embalmed with the tears of a 
grateful people, and his immortal part has met that im- 
mortality which is the sure reward of the just and 
good. 



ON GENERAL LA FAYETTE'S RECEPTION IN THE UNI- 
TED STATES IN 1824. 

Never was the aphorism Vox Populi ! Vox Dei ! ex- 
emplified until now. It remained for Columbia to give 
the elucidation. What have been all earthly triumphs 
compared to the one which is now passing before our 
eyes. — Alexander entered Babylon reeking with the 
gore, and riding upon the necks of a prostrate people. 
Caesar entered Rome, trampling upon the liberties of his 
country. La Fayette enters America with the halo of 
Washington around his head, and the shouts and bles- 
sings of free millions vibrating in his heart, standing 
upon earth with feelings raised to heaven! Oh what 



AND MISCELLANEOUS. 191 

a glorious lesson to poor weak infidelity ! and what a 
proof that man has a soul, and is an emanation of the 
Deity ! But expression sinks under the magnitude of 
the subject. 

Soldier! again thou comest to save thy adopted 
country, for hereafter, when republics may tauntingly 
be accused of ingratitude, let America say — La Fay- 
ette ! 



THE WIDOW AND HER SON. 

Pittie old age, within whose silver hairs 
Honor and reverence evermore have raign'd. 

Marlowe's Tamburlaine. 

During my residence in the country, I used frequent- 
ly to attend at the old village church. Its shadowy aisles, 
its mouldering monuments, its dark oaken pannelling, 
all reverend with the gloom of departed years, seemed 
to* fit it for the haunt of solemn meditation. A Sunday, 
too, in the country, is so holy in its repose : such a pen- 
sive quiet reigns over the face of nature, that every 
restless passion is charmed down, and we feel all the 
natural religion of the soul gently springing up with- 
in us. 

Sweet day ! so pure, so calm, so bright, 

The bridal of the earth and sky. 

I do not pretend to he what is called a devout man, 
out there are feelings that visit me in a country church, 
amidst the beautiful serenity of nature, which I expe- 
rience no where else ; and if not a more religious, 1 
think I am a better man on Sunday than on any other 
day of the seven. But in this church I felt myself con- 
tinually thrown back Upon the world by the frigidity and 
pomp of the poor worms around me. The only being 
that seemed thoroughly to feel the humble and prostrate 
piety of a true christian, was a poor decrepid old wo- 
man, bending under the weight of years and infirmi- 
ties. She bore the traces of something better than ab- 
ject poverty. The lingerings of decent pride were 



192 SUBJECTS DESCRIPTIVE 

visibi* in her appearance. Her dress, though humble 
in the extreme, was scrupulously clean. Some trivial 
respect, too, has been awarded her, for she did not take 
her seat among the village poor, but sat alone on the 
steps of the altar. She seemed to have survived all love 
all friendship, all society, and to have nothing left her 
but the hopes of heaven. When I saw her feebly rising 
and bending her aged form in prayer, — habitually con- 
ning her prayer book, which her palsied hand and fail- 
ing eyes could not permit her to read, but which she 
evidently knew by heart — I felt persuaded that the fault- 
ering voice of that poor woman arose to heaven far be- 
fore the responses of the clerk, the swell of the organ, 
or the chanting of the choir. I am fond of loitering 
about country churches, and this was so delightfully 
situated, that it frequently attracted me. It stood on a 
knoll, round which a small stream made a beautiful 
bend, and then wound its way through a long reach of 
soft meadow scenery. The church was surrounded by 
yew trees, which seemed almost coeval with itself. Its 
tall Gothic spire shot up lightly from among them, with 
rooks and crows generally wheeling about it. I was 
seated there one still sunny morning, watching two la- 
borers who were digging a grave. They had chosen 
one of the most remote and neglected corners of the 
church-yard, where, by the number of nameless graves 
around, it would appear that the indigent and friendless 
were hurried into the earth. I was told that the new- 
made grave was for the only son of a poor widow. 
While I was meditating on the distinctions of worldly 
rank, which extend thus down into the very dust, the 
toll of the bell announced the approach of the funeral. 
They were the obsequies of poverty, with which pride 
had nothing to do. A coffin of the plainest materials, 
without pall or other covering, was borne by some of 
the villagers. The sexton walked before with an air 
of cold indifference. There were no mock mourners 
in the trappings erf affected wo, but there was one real 
mourner, who feebly tottered after the corpse. It was 
the aged mother of the deceased — the poor old woman 



AND MISCELLANEOUS 193 

whom I had seen seated on the steps of the altar. She 
was supported by an humble friend, who was endeavor- 
ing to comfort her, A few of the neighboring poor had 
joined the train, and some children of the village were 
running hand in hand, now shouting with unthinking 
mirth, and sometimes pausing to gaze with childish cu- 
riosity on the grief of the mourner. 

As the funeral train approached the grave, the parson 
issued out of the church porch, arrayed in the surplice, 
wuth prayer book in hand, and attended by the clerk. 
The service, however, was a mere act of charity. The 
deceased had been destitute, and the survivor was pen- 
nyless. It was shuffled through, therefore, in form, but 
coldly and unfeelingly. The well fed priest scarcely 
moved ten steps from the church door ; his voice could 
scarcely be heard at the grave ; and never did I hear 
the funeral service, that sublime and touching ceremo- 
ny, turned into such a frigid mummery of words. 

I approached the grave. The coffin was placed on 
the ground. On it were inscribed the name and age of 
the deceased — " George Somers, aged 26 years." The 
poor mother had been assisted to kneel down at the head 
of it. Her withered hands were clasped as if in pray- 
er ; but I could perceive, by a feeble rocking of the 
body and a convulsive motion of the lips, that she was 
gazing on the last reliques of her son with the yearn- 
ings of a mother's heart. 

The service being ended, preparations were made to 
deposit the coffin in the earth. There was that bustling 
stir that breaks so harshly on the feelings of grief and 
affection : directions given in the cold tones of business ; 
the striking of spades into sand and gravel, which at 
the grave of those we love is of all sounds the most 
withering. The bustle around seemed to awaken the 
mother from a wretched reverie. She raised her glazed 
eyes, and looked about with a faint wildness. As the 
men approached w r ith cords to lower the coffin into the 
grave, she wrung her hands and broke into an agony of 
grief. The poor woman w T ho attended her took her by 
the arm, endeavored to raise her from the earth, and to 

17 



194 SUBJECTS DESCRIPTIVE 

whisper something like consolation — " Nay, now — naj 
now — don't take it so sorely to heart." She could 
only shake her head and wring her hands as one not to 
be comforted. 

As they lowered the body into the earth, the creak- 
ing of the cords seemed to agonize her ; but when, on 
some accidental obstruction, there was a jostling of the 
coffin, all the tenderness of the mother burst forth ; as 
if any harm could come to him who was far beyond the 
reach of wordly suffering. 

I could see no more — my heart swelled into my 
throat — my eyes filled with tears — I felt as if I were 
acting a barbarous part in standing by and gazing idly 
on this scene of maternal anguish. I wandered to 
another part of the church- yard, where I remained until 
the funeral train had dispersed. 

When I saw the mother slowly and painfully quitting 
the grave, leaving behind her the remains of all that 
was dear to her on earth, and returning to silence and 
destitution, my heart ached for her. What, thought [, 
#re the distresses of the rich ! they have friends to 
^soothe — pleasures to beguile — a world to divert and 
dissipate their griefs. What are the sorrows of the 
young? Their growing minds soon close above the 
wound — their elastic spirits soon rise beneath the pres- 
sure — their green and ductile affections soon twine 
around new objects. But the sorrows of the poor, who 
;have no outward appliances to soothe — the sorrows of 
the aged, with whom life at best is but a wintry day, 
and who can look for no after-growth of joy — the sor- 
rows of a widow, aged, solitary, destitute, mourning 
over an only son, the last solace of her years ; these are 
the sorrows which make us feel the impotency of con- 
solation. 

It v/as some time before I left the church-yard. On 
my way homeward, I met with the woman who had 
acted as comforter: she was just returning from ac- 
companying the mother to her lonely habitation, and I 
drew from her some particulars connected with the 
affecting scene I had witnessed 



AND MISCELLANEOUS. 195 

The parents of the deceased had resided in the vil- 
lage from childhood. They had inhabited one of the 
neatest cottages, and by various rural occupations, and 
the assistance of a small garden, had supported them- 
selves creditably and comfortably, and led a happy and 
a blameless life. They had one son, who had grown 
up to be the staff and pride of their age. — " Oh, sir ! ,f 
said the good woman, " he was such a likely lad, so 
sweet tempered, so kind to every one around him, so 
dutiful to his parents ! It did one's heart good to see 
him of a Sunday, drest out in his best, so tall, so 
straight, so cheery, supporting his old mother to church 
— for she was always fonder of leaning on George's 
arm, than on her good man's ; and, poor soul, she might 
well be proud of him, for a finer lad there was not in 
the country round." 

Unfortunately, the son was tempted, during a year 
of scarcity and agricultural hardship, to enter into the 
service of one of the small craft that plied on a neigh- 
boring river. He had not been long in this employ,, 
when he was entrapped by a pressgang, and carried off 
to sea. His parents received the tidings of his seizure,, 
but beyond that they could learn nothing. It was the- 
loss of their main prop. The father, who was already 
infirm, grew heartless and melancholy, and sunk into 
his grave. The widow, left lonely in her age and 
feebleness, could no longer support herself, and came 
upon the parish. Still there was a kind feeling towards 
her throughout the village, and a certain respect as 
being one of the oldest inhabitants. As no one applied 
for the cottage in which she had passed so many happy 
days, she was permitted to remain in it, where she 
lived solitary and almost helpless. The few wants of 
nature were chiefly supplied from the scanty productions 
of her little garden, which the neighbors would now 
and then cultivate for her. It was but a few days 
before the time at which these circumstances were told 
me, that she was gathering some vegetables for her 
repast, when she heard the cottage door that faced the 
garden suddenly opened. A stranger came out, and 



196 SUBJECTS DESCRIPTIVE 

seemed to be looking eagerly and wildly around. He 
was dressed in seamen's clothes, was emaciated and 
ghastly pale, and bore the air of one broken by sickness 
and hardships. He saw her, and hastened toward her, 
but his steps were faint and faltering, he sank on his 
knees before her, and sobbed like a child. The poor 
woman gazed upon him with a vacant and wandering 
eye — " Oh my dear, dear mother! don't you know your 
son ! your poor boy George !" It was, indeed, the 
wreck of her once noble lad; who, shattered by wounds, 
by sickness, and foreign imprisonment, had, at length, 
dragged his wasted limbs homeward, to repose among 
the scenes of his childhood. 

I will not attempt to detail the particulars of such a 
meeting, where joy and sorrow were so completely 
blended: still he was alive ! — he was come home ! — he 
might yet live to comfort and cherish her old age ! Na- 
ture, however, was exhausted in him ; and if any thing 
had been wanting to finish the work of fate, the deso- 
lation of his native cottage would have been sufficient. 
He stretched himself on the pallet where his widowed 
mother had passed many a sleepless night, and he never 
rose from it again. 

The villagers, when they heard that George Somers 
had returned, crowded to see him, offering every com- 
fort and assistance that their humble means afforded. 
He, however, was too weak to talk — he could only look 
his thanks. His mother was his constant attendant, 
and he seemed unwilling to be helped by any other 
hand. 

There is something in sickness that breaks down the 
pride of manhood ; that softens the heart, and brings it 
back to the feelings of infancy. Who that has suffered, 
even in advanced life, in sickness and despondency — 
who that has pined on a weary bed in the neglect and 
loneliness of a foreign land — but has thought on the 
mother " that looked on his childhood," that smoothed 
his pillow, and administered to his helplessness. Oh ! 
there is an enduring tenderness in the love of a mother 
to a son, that transcends all other affections of the heart. 



AND MISCELLANEOUS. 197 

It is neither to be chilled by selfishness, nor daunted by 
danger, nor weakened by worthlessness, nor stifled by 
ingratitude. She will sacrifice every comfort to his 
convenience ; she will surrender every pleasure to his 
enjoyment ; she will glory in his fame, and exult in 
his prosperity: and, if adversity overtake him, he will 
be the dearer to her by misfortune; and, if disgrace settle 
upon his name, she will still love and cherish him; 
and, if all the world beside cast him off, she will be all 
the world to him. 

Poor George Somers had known well what it was to 
be in sickness, and none to soothe — lonely and in prison, 
and none to visit him. — He could not endure his mother 
from his sight ; if she moved away, his eye would fol- 
low her. She would sit for hours by his bed, watching 
him as he slept. Sometimes he would start from a 
feverish dream, look anxiously up until he saw her 
venerable form bending over him, when he would take 
her hand, lay it on his bosom, and fall asleep with the 
tranquillity of a child. In this way he died. 

My first impulse, on hearing this humble tale of 
affliction, was to visit the cottage of the mourner, and 
administer pecuniary assistance, and, if possible, com- 
fort. I found, however, on inquiry, that the good 
feelings of the villagers had prompted them to do every 
thing that the case admitted : and as the poor know 
best how to console each other's sorrows, I did not 
venture to intrude. 

The next Sunday I was at the village church; when, 
to my surprise, I saw the poor old woman tottering 
down the aisle to her accustomed seat on the steps of 
the altar. 

She had made an effort to put on something like 
mourning for her son ; and nothing could be more 
touching than this struggle between pious affection and 
utter poverty: a black riband or so — a faded black 
handkerchief — and one or two more such humble at- 
tempts to express by outward signs that grief which 
passes show. When I looked round upon the storied 
monuments, the stately hatchments, the cold marble 

17* 



198 SUBJECTS DESCRIPTIVE 

pomp, with which grandeur mourned magnificently over 
departed pride ; and turned to this poor widow, bowed 
down by age and sorrow at the altar of her God, and 
offering up the prayers and praises of a pious, though a 
broken heart, I felt that this living monument of real 
grief was worth them all. 

I related her story to some of the wealthy members 
of the congregation, and they were moved at it. They 
exerted themselves to render her situation more com- 
fortable, and to lighten her afflictions. It was, however, 
but smoothing a few steps to the grave. In the course 
of a Sunday or two after, she was missed from her 
usual seat at church, and before I left the neighborhood, 
I heard, with a feeling of satisfaction, that she had 
quietly breathed her last, and gone to rejoin those she 
loved, in that world where sorrow is never known, and 
friends are never parted. 



REFLECTIONS ON FIRST APPROACHING ROME. 

On the heights above Baccano the postillions stopped, 
and pointing to a pinnacle that appeared between two 
hills, exclaimed — " Eoma !" — that pinnacle was the 
cross of St. Peter's.— The " ETERNAL CITY" rose 
before us ! 

As the traveller advances over the dreary wilds of the 
Campagna, where not one object occurs to awaken his 
attention, he has time to recover from the surprise and 
agitation which the first view of Rome seldom fails to 
excite in liberal and ingenuous minds. He may natu- 
rally be supposed to inquire into the cause of these 
emotions, and at first he may be inclined to attribute 
them solely to the influence of early habits, and ascribe 
the feelings of the man to the warm imagination of the 
school boy. Without doubt the name of Rome echoes 
in our ears from our infancy : our lisping tongues are 
tuned to her language ; and our first and most delight- 
ful years are passed among her orators, poets and his- 
torians. We are taught betimes to take a deep interest 



AND MISCELLANEOUS. 199 

in her fortunes, and to adopt her cause, as that of our 
own country, with spirit and with passion. Such im- 
pressions, made at such an age, are indelible, and it 
must be admitted, are likely to influence our feelings 
and opinions during life. 

But the prejudices instilled into the mind of the boy, 
and strengthened by the studies of youth, are neither 
(he sole nor even the principal causes of our veneration 
for Eome. The Mistress of the World claims our re- 
spect and affection, on grounds which the Christian and 
the philosopher must admit with grateful acknowledg- 
ment. In addition to her ancient origin and venerable 
fame, to her mighty achievements and vast empire, to her 
heroes and her saints, to the majesty of her language, 
and the charms of her literature ; " habe ante oculos 
hanc esse terram quae nobis miserit jura quae leges de- 
derit. n Rome has been, in the hands of Providence, 
the instrument of communicating to Europe and to a 
considerable portion of the globe, the three greatest 
blessings of which human nature is susceptible — Civili- 
zation, Science, and Religion. 

The system of Roman government was peculiarly 
adapted to the attainment of this great end, and the ex- 
tension of its empire, seems to have been ordained by 
Heaven for its full accomplishment. The despotism of 
the Eastern monarchies kept all prostrate on the ground 
in abject slavery; the narrow policy of the Greek re- 
publics confined the blessings of liberty within their 
own precincts.: Rome, with more enlarged and more 
generous sentiments, considering the conquered coun- 
tries as so many nurseries of citizens, gradually extend- 
ed her rights and privileges to their capitals, enrolled 
their natives in her legions, and admitted their nobles 
into her senate. Thus her subjects, as they improved 
in civilization, advanced also in honors, and approached 
every day nearer to the manners and to the virtues of 
their masters, till every province became another Italy, 
every city another Rome. With her laws and franchi- 
ses she communicated to them her arts and sciences ; 
wherever the Roman eagles penetrated, schools were 



200 SUBJECTS DESCRIPTIVE 

opened, and public teachers were pensioned. Aque- 
ducts and bridges, temples and theatres were raised in 
almost every town; and all the powers of architecture, 
of sculpture, and of painting, were employed to deco- 
rate the capitals of the most distant provinces. Eoads, 
the remains of which astonish us even at this day, 
were carried from the Eoman Forum, the centre of this 
vast empire, to its utmost extremities ; and all the tribes 
and nations that composed it were linked together, not 
only by the same laws and by the same government, 
but by all the facilities of commodious intercourse, and 
of frequent communication. Compare the state of Gaul, 
of Spain, and of Britain, when covered with number- 
less cities, and flourishing in all the arts of peace under 
the protection of Eome, with their forests, their swamps, 
and the sordid huts of half naked savages scattered 
thinly over their wastes previous to their subjugation ; 
and you will be enabled to appreciate the blessings which 
they owed to Eome. 

Eome, in thus civilizing and polishing mankind, had 
prepared them for the reception of that divine religion, 
which alone can give to human nature its full and ade- 
quate perfection ; and she completed her godlike work, 
when influenced by her instructions and example Europe 
embraced Christianity. Thus she became the metro- 
polis of the world, by a new and more venerable title, 
and assumed in a most august sense, the appellation of 
the u Holy City," the " Light of Nations," the " Pa- 
rent of Mankind." When in the course of the two 
succeeding ages, shewas stript of her imperial honors ; 
when her provinces were invaded, and all the glorious 
scene of cultivation, peace and improvement was rav- 
aged by successive hordes of barbarians ; she again 
renewed her benevolent exertions, and sent out, not 
consuls and armies to conquer, but apostles and teach- 
ers to reclaim, the savage tribes which had wasted her 
empire. By them she bore the light of heaven into 
the dark recesses of idolatry ; and displaying in this 
better cause all the magnanimity, the wisdom, the per- 
severance, which marked her former career, she tri- 



AND MISCELLANEOUS. 201 

umphed, and, in spite of ignorance and barbarism, again 
diffused the blessings of Christianity over the Western 
world. 

Nor is it to be objected that the religion of Rome 
was erroneous, or that she blinded and enslaved her 
converts. The religion which Rome taught was Chris- 
tianity. With it the convert received in the Scriptures 
the records of truth ; and in the sacraments, the means 
of sanctification ; in the creeds, the rule of faith ; and 
in the commandments, the code of morality. In these 
are comprised all the belief and all the practices of a 
Christian, and to communicate these to a nation is to 
open to it the sources of life and happiness. But what- 
ever may be the opinions of my reader in this respect, 
he must admit that the Latin muses, which had fol- 
lowed the Roman eagles in their victorious flight, now 
accompanied her humble missionaries in their expedi- 
tions of charity : and with them penetrated the swamps 
of Batavia, the forests of Germany, and the mountains 
of Caledonia. 

Schools that vied in learning and celebrity with sem- 
inaries of the south, rose in these benighted regions, 
and diffused the beams of science over the vast tracts 
of the north, even to the polar circles. Thus the pre- 
dictions of the Roman poets were fulfilled, though in a 
manner very different from their conceptions ; and their 
immortal compositions were rehearsed in the remote 
islands of the Hebrides, and in the once impenetrable 
forests of Scandinavia. 

At the same time, the arts followed the traces of the 
muse, and the untutored savages saw with surprise, tem- 
ples of stone rise in their sacred groves, and arches of 
rock spread into a roof over their heads. The figure 
of the Redeemer, till then unknown, seemed to breathe 
on canvass to their eyes; the venerable forms of the 
apostles in Parian marble replaced the grim uncouth 
statues of their idols ; and music surpassing in sweet- 
ness the strains of their bards, announced to them the 
mercies of that God whom they were summoned to 
acknre. It was not wonderful that they should eagerly 



202 SUBJECTS DESCRIPTIVE 

embrace a religion adorned with so many graces, and 
accompanied by so many blessings ; and Europe final- 
ly settled in the profession of Christianity, and once 
more enlightened by the beams of science, was indebted 
to the exertions of Rome for both these blessings. 

But the obligation did not end here, as the work of 
civilization was not yet finished. The northern tribes 
long established in the invaded provinces had indeed 
become Christians, but they still remained, in many 
respects, barbarians. Hasty and intemperate, they in- 
dulged the caprice or the vengeance of the moment ; 
they knew no law but that of the sword> and would 
submit to no decision but that of arms. Here again we 
behold the genius of Rome interposing her authority as 
a shield between ferocity and weakness, appealing from 
the sword to reason, from private combat to public jus- 
tice, from the will of the judge and the uncertain rules 
of custom, to the clear prescriptions of her own written 
code. This grand plan of civilization, though impeded 
and delayed by the brutality and the obstinacy of the 
barbarous ages,, was at length carried into effect, and 
the Eoman law was adopted by consenting nations as 
the general code of the civilized world. 

Rome, therefore, may still be said to rule nations ; 
not, indeed, with the rod of power, but with the sceptre 
of justice ; and may still be supposed to exercise the 
high commission of presiding over the world, and of 
regulating the destinies of mankind. 



THE CAPITOL. 

The Capitol was anciently both a fortress and a 
sanctuary. A fortress surrounded with precipices, bid- 
ding defiance to all the means of attack employed in 
ancient times ; a sanctuary, crowded with altars and 
temples, the repository of the fatal oracles, the seat of 
the tutelar deities of the empire. Romulus began the 
the grand work, by erecting the temple of Jupiter Fe- 



AND MISCELLANEOUS. 203 

retrius — Tarquinius Priscus, Servius Tullius, and Tar- 
quinius Superbus continued, and the consul, Horatius 
Pulvillus, a few years after the expulsion of the kings, 
completed it, with a solidity and magnificence, says 
Tacitus, which the riches of succeeding ages might 
adorn, but could not increase. It was burnt during 
the civil wars between Marius and Sylla, and rebuilt 
shortly after ; but again destroyed by fire in the dreadful 
contest that took place in the very forum itself, and on 
the sides of the Capitoline Mount, between the parti- 
sans of Vitellius and Vespasian. This event, Tacitus 
laments, with the spirit and indignation of a Roman, 
as the greatest disaster that had ever befallen the city. 
And indeed, if we consider that the public archives, and 
of course the most valuable records of its history were 
deposited there, we must allow, that the catastrophe 
was peculiarly unfortunate, not to Rome only, but to 
the world at large. However, the capitol rose once 
more from its ashes, with redoubled splendor, and 
received from the munificence of Vespasian, and of 
Domitian his son, its last and most glorious embellish- 
ments. The edifices were probably in site and desti- 
nation nearly the same as before the conflagration ; but 
more attention was paid to symmetry, to costliness, and 
above all, to grandeur and magnificence. The north- 
ern entrance led under a triumphal arch to the centre 
of the hill, and to the sacred grove, the asylum opened 
by Romulus, and almost the cradle of Roman power. 
On the right on the eastern summit, stood the temple 
of Jupiter Feretrius. On the left, on the western sum- 
mit, was that of Jupiter Custos ; near each of these 
temples were the fanes of inferior divinities, that of 
Fortune and that of Fides alluded to by Cicero. In 
the midst, to crown the pyramid formed by such an as- 
semblage of majestic edifices, rose the residence of the 
guardian of the empire, the temple of Jupiter Capito- 
linus on a hundred steps, supported by a hundred pil- 
lars, adorned with all the refinements of art, and bla- 
zing with the plunder of the world. In the centre of 
the temple, with Juno on his left, and Minerva on his 



204 SUBJECTS DESCRIPTIVE 

right side, the thunderer sat on a throne of gold, grasp- 
ing the lightning in one hand ; and in the other wield- 
ing the sceptre of the universe. Hither the consuls 
were conducted by the senate, to assume the military- 
dress, and to implore the favor of the Gods before they 
marched to battle. Hither the victorious generals used 
to repair in triumph, in order to suspend the spoils of 
conquered nations, to present captive monarchs, and to 
offer up hecatombs to Tarpeian Jove. Here, in cases of 
danger and distress, the senate was assembled, and the 
magistrates convened to deliberate in the presence, and 
under the immedate influence, of the tutelar gods of 
Rome. Here the law r s were exhibited to public inspec- 
tion, as if under the sanction of the divinity ; and here, 
also, they were deposited, as if intrusted to his guar- 
dian care. Hither Cicero turned his hands and eyes, 
when he closed his first oration against Catiline, with 
that noble address to Jupiter, presiding in the capitol 
over the destinies of the empire, and dooming its ene- 
mies to destruction. In the midst of these magnificent 
structures, of this wonderful display of art and opu- 
lence, stood for ages the humble straw roofed palace of 
Romulus, a monument of primitive simplicity, dear and 
venerable in the eyes of the Romans. This cottage, 
it may easily be supposed, vanished in the first confla- 
gration. But not the cottage only, the temples, the 
towers, the palaces, also, that once surrounded it, have 
disappeared. Of all the ancient glory of the capitol, 
nothing now remains but the solid foundation, and vast 
substructions raised on the rock, Capitoli immobile sax- 
um. Not only is the capitol fallen, but its very name, 
expressive of dominion, and once fondly considered as 
an omen of empire, is now almost lost in the semi- 
barbarous appellation of Campidoglio. 



THE FORUM. 
The Roman Forum now lay extended before us, a 
scene in the ages of Roman greatness of unparalleled 
splendor and magnificence. It was bordered on both 



AND MISCELLANEOUS. 205 

sides with temples, and lined with statues. It termi- 
nated in triumphal arches, and was bounded here by the 
Palatine hill with the imperial residence glittering on 
its summit, and there by the Capitol, with its ascend- 
ing ranges of porticos and of temples. Thus it pre- 
sented one of the richest exhibitions that eyes could 
behold, or human ingenuity invent. In the midst of 
these superb monuments, the memorials of their great- 
ness, and the trophies of their fathers, the Roman peo- 
ple assembled to exercise their sovereign power, and 
to decide the fates of heroes, of kings, and of nations. 

Nor did the contemplation of such glorious objects 
fail to produce a corresponding effect. Manlius, as long 
as he could extend his arm, and fix the attention of 
the people on the Capitol which he had saved, sus- 
pended his fatal sentence. Caius Gracchus melted 
the hearts of his audience, when in the moment of 
distress he pointed to the Capitol, and asked with all 
the emphasis of despair, whether he could expect to 
find an asylum in that sanctuary whose pavement still 
streamed with the blood of his brother. Scipio Afri- 
canus, when accused by an envious faction, and obliged 
to appear before the people as a criminal, instead of 
answering the charge, turned to the Capitol, and in- 
vited the assembly to accompany him to the temple of 
Jupiter, and give thanks to the gods for the defeat of 
Annibal and the Carthaginians. Such, in fact, was 
the influence of locality, and such the awe, interest, 
and even emotion, inspired by the surrounding edifices. 
Hence the frequent references that we find in the Ro- 
man historians, and orators, to the Capitol, the Forum, 
the temples of the gods; and hence those noble ad- 
dresses to the deities themselves, as present in their 
respective sanctuaries, and watching over the interests 
of their favoured city, " Ita prassentes his temporibus 
opem et auxiliumnobis tulerunt ut cos pene oculis videre 
possimus." 

But the glories of the Forum are now fled forever ; 
its temples are fallen ; its sanctuaries have crumbled 
into dust; its colonnades encumber its pavements now 

18 



206 SUBJECTS DESCRIPTIVE 

buried under their remains. The walls of the Rostra 
stripped of their ornaments, and doomed to eternal 
silence, a few shattered porticos and here and there an 
insulated column standing in the midst of broken 
shafts, vast fragments of marble capitals and cornices 
heaped together in masses, remind the traveller, that 
the field which he now traverses, was once the Roman 
Forum. 

A fountain fills a marble basin in the middle, the 
same possibly to which Propertius alludes when, speak- 
ing of the Forum in the time of Tatius, he says, 

Murus erant montes, ubi nunc est Curias septum, 
Bellicus ex illo fonte bibebat equus. 

A little farther on commences a double range of 
trees that lead along the Via Sacra by the temples of 
Antoninus, and of Peace, to the arch of Titus. A herds- 
man seated on a pedestal while his oxen were drink- 
ing at the fountain, and a few passengers moving at a 
distance in different directions, were the only living be- 
ings that disturbed the silence and solitude which 
reigned around. Thus the place seemed restored to its 
original wildness described by Virgil, and abandoned 
once more to flocks and herds of cattle. So far have the 
modern Romans forgotten the theatre of the glory and 
of the imperial power of their ancestor, as to degrade 
it into a common market for cattle, and sink its name, 
illustrated by every page of Roman history, into the 
contemptible appellation of Campo Vaccino. 

Proceeding along the Via Sacra, and passing under 
the arch of Titus, on turning a little to the left, we 
beheld the amphitheatre of Vespasian and Titus, now 
called the Coliseum. Never did human art present to 
the eye a fabric so well calculated, by its size and form, 
to surprise and delight. Let the spectator first place 
himself to the north, and contemplate that side which 
depredation, barbarism, and ages have spared, he 
will behold with admiration its wonderful extent, well 
proportioned stories and flying lines, that retire and 



AND MISCELLANEOUS. 207 

vanish without break or interruption. Next let him 
turn to the south, and examine those stupendous arches, 
which, stripped as they are of their external decora- 
tions, still astonish us by their solidity and duration. 
Then let him enter, range through the lofty arcades, 
and ascending the vaulted seats, consider the vast mass 
of ruin that surrounds him ; insulated walls, immense 
stones suspended in the air, arches covered with weeds 
and shrubs, vaults opening upon other ruins ; in short, 
above, below, and around, one vast collection of mag- 
nificence and devastation, of grandeur and of decay. 

Need I inform the reader that this stupendous fa- 
bric, 

(l Which on its public shows unpeopled Rome* 
el And held uncrowded nations in its womb.." 

was erected by the above mentioned emperors, out of 
part only of the materials, and on a portion of the site 
of Nero's golden house, which had been demolished by 
order of Vespasian, as too sumptuous even for a Roman? 
Emperor. 

The Coliseum, owing to the solidity of its materials, 
survived the era of barbarism, and was so perfect in the- 
thirteenth century, that games were exhibited in it, not 
for the amusement of the Romans only, but of all the 
nobility of Italy. The destruction of this wonderful 
fabric is to be ascribed to causes more active in gene- 
ral in the erection than in the demolition of magnifi- 
cent buildings, to taste and vanity. 

When Rome began to revive, and architecture arose 
from its ruins, every rich and powerful citizen wished 
to have, not a commodious dwelling merely, but a pal- 
ace. The Coliseum was an immense quarry at hand ; 
the common people stole, the grandees obtained permis- 
sion to carry off its materials, till the interior was dis- 
mantled, and the exterior half stripped of its ornaments,. 
It is difficult to say where this system of depredation, so 
sacrilegious in the opinion of the antiquary, would have 
stopped, had not Benedict XIV., a pontiff of great judg- 
ment, erected a cross in the centre of the arena, and 



208 SUBJECTS DESCRIPTIVE 

declared the place sacred, out of respect to the blood of 
the many martyrs who were butchered there during the 
persecutions. This declaration, if issued two or thiee 
centuries ago, would have preserved the Coliseum en- 
tire ; it can now only protect its remains, and transmit 
them in their present state to posterity. 

We then ascended the Palatine Mount, after having 
walked round its base in order to examine its bearings. 
This hill, the nursery of infant Rome, and finally the 
residence of imperial grandeur, presents now two soli- 
tary villas and a convent, with their deserted gardens 
and vineyards. Its numerous temples, its palaces, its 
porticos, and its libraries, once the glory of Rome, and 
the admiration of the universe, are now mere heaps of 
ruins, so shapeless and scattered, that the antiquary 
and architect are at a loss to discover their site, their 
plans and their elevation. Of that wing of the imperi- 
al palace, which looks to the west, and on the Circus 
Maximus, some apartments remain vaulted and of 
fine proportions, but so deeply buried in ruins, as to 
be now subterranean. 

A hall of immense size was discovered about the be- 
ginning of the last century, concealed under the ruins of 
its own massive roof. The pillars of Verdeantico that sup- 
ported its vaults, the statues that ornamented its niches, 
and the rich marbles that formed its pavement, were 
found buried in rubbish ; and were immediately carried 
away by the Farnesian family, the proprietors of the 
soil, to adorn their palaces, and furnish their galleries. 

This hall is now cleared of its encumbrances, and 
presents to the eye a vast length of naked wall, and an 
area covered with weeds. As we stood contemplating 
its extent and proportions, a fox started from an aper- 
ture, once a window, at one end, and crossing the open 
space, scrambled up the ruins at the other, and dis- 
appeared in the rubbish. This scene of desolation re- 
minded me of Ossian's beautiful description, " the this- 
tle shook there its lonely head ; the moss whistled to 
the gale ; the fox looked out from the windows ; the 
rank grass waved round his head," and almost seemed 



AND MISCELLANEOUS. 209 

the accomplishment of that awful prediction, " There 
the wild beasts of the desert shall lodge, and howling 
monsters shall fill the houses ; and wolves shall howl 
to one another in their palaces, and dragons in their vo- 
luptuous pavilions." 



THE THERMAE, OR THE BATHS OF CARACALLA. 

The length of the Thermae of Caracalla was one 
thousand eight hundred and forty feet, its breadth, one 
thousand four hundred and seventy-six. At each end 
were two temples, one to Apollo, and another to iEscu- 
lapius, as the " Genii Tuielares" of a place sacred to 
the improvement of the mind, and to the care of the body. 
The two other temples were dedicated to the two pro- 
tecting divinities of the Antonine family, Hercules and 
Bacchus. In the principal building were, in the first 
place, a grand circular vestibule with four halls on each 
side, for cold, tepid, warm, and steam baths ; in the 
centre was an immense square, for exercise, when the 
weather was unfavourable to it in the open air ; beyond 
it a great hall, where sixteen hundred marble seats were 
placed for the convenience of the bathers ; at each end 
of this hall were libraries. This building terminated 
on both sides in a court surrounded with porticos, with 
an odeum for music, and in the middle a capacious ba- 
sin for swimming. Round this edifice were walks sha- 
ded by rows of trees, particularly the plane ; and in its 
front extended a gymnasium for running, wrestling, 
&c. in fine weather. The whole was bounded by a vast 
portico opening into exedrae or spacious halls, where po- 
ets declaimed, and philosophers gave lectures. 

This immense fabric was adorned within and with- 
out with pillars, stucco work, paintings, and statues. The 
stucco and painting, though faintly indeed, are yet in 
many places perceptible. Pillars have been dug up, 
and some still remain amidst ihe ruins ; while the Far- 
nesian bull, and the famous Hercules found in one of 
these halls, announce the multiplicity, and beauty, of 

is* 



210 SUBJECTS DESCRIPTIVE 

the statues which once adorned the Thermae of Caracal- 
la. The flues and reservoirs for water still remain. 
The height of the pile was proportioned to its extent, 
and still appears very considerable, even though the 
ground be raised at least twelve feet above its ancient 
level. It is now changed into gardens and vineyards ; 
its high massive walls form separations, and its limy 
ruins spread over the surface, burn the soil, and check 
its natural fertility. 



THE PANTHEON. 

The pantheon, it is true, retains its majestic portico, 
and presents its graceful dome uninjured : the pavement 
laid by Agrippa, and trodden by Augustus, still forms 
its floor ; the compartments and fluted pillars of the 
richest marble, that originally lined its walls, still adorn 
its inward circumference ; the deep tints that age has 
thrown over it only contribute to raise its dignity, and 
augment our veneration ; and the traveller enters its 
portal, through which twice twenty generations have 
flowed in succession, with a mixture of awe and relig- 
ious veneration. Yet the Pantheon itself has been 
" shorn of its beams, " and looks eclipsed through the 
" disastrous twilight" of eighteen centuries. Where is 
now its proud elevation, and the flight of steps that con- 
ducted to its threshold ? Where the marbles that 
clothed, or the handmaid edifices that concealed its 
brick exterior ? Where the statues that graced its cor- 
nice ? The bronze that blazed on its dome, that vault- 
ed its portico, and formed its sculptured doors ? And 
where the silver that lined the compartments of its 
roof within, and dazzled the spectator with its bright- 
ness ? The rapacity of Genseric began, the avarice of 
succeeding barbarians continued to strip it of these 
splendid decorations ; and time, by levelling many a 
noble structure in its neighborhood, has raised the pave- 
ment, and deprived it of all the advantages of situation. 
The two celebrated pillars of Antoninus, and Trajan, 



AND MISCELLANEOUS. 211 

stand each in its square ; but they have also lost seve- 
ral feet of their original elevation ; and the colonnade 
or portico that enclosed the latter, supposed to be the 
noblest structure of the kind ever erected, has long 
since sunk in the dust, and its ruins probably lie buried 
under the foundations of the neighboring houses. 



ST. PETER'S. 

From the bridge and Castle de St. Angelo, a wide 
street conducts in a direct line to a square, and that 
square presents at once the court or portico, and part 
of the Basilica. — When the spectator approaches the 
entrance of this court, he views four rows of lofty pillars 
sweeping off to the right and left in a bold semicircle. 
In the centre of the area formed by this immense colon- 
nade, an Egyptian obelisk, of one solid piece of granite, 
ascends to the height of one hundred and thirty feet ; 
two perpetual fountains, one on each side, play in the 
air, and fall in sheets round the basins of porphyry that 
receive them. — Before him, raised on three successive 
flights of marble steps, extending four hundred feet in 
length, and towering to the elevation of one hundred 
and eighty, he beholds the majestic front of the Basilica 
itself. This front is supported by a single row of 
Corinthian pillars and pilasters, and adorned with an 
attxC, a balustrade, and thirteen colossal statues. — Far 
behind and above it, rises the matchless Dome, the 
justly celebrated wonder of Rome and of the world. 
The colonnade of coupled pillars that surround and 
strengthen its vast base, the graceful attic that sur- 
mounts this colonnade, the bold and expansive swell of 
the dome itself, and the pyramid seated on a cluster of 
columns, and bearing the ball and cross to the skies, all 
perfect in their kind, form the most magnificent and 
singular exhibition that the human eye perhaps ever 
contemplated. Twolessercupolas, one on each side, 
partake of the state, and add not a little to the majesty 
of the principal dome. 



212 SUBJECTS DESCRIPTIVE 

The interior corresponds perfectly with the grandeur 
of the exterior, and fully answers the expectations, 
however great, which such an approach must naturally 
have raised. — Five lofty portals open into the portico or 
vestibulum, a gallery in dimensions and decorations 
equal to the most spacious cathedrals. It is four hun- 
dred feet in length, seventy in height, and fifty in 
breadth, paved with variegated marble, covered with a 
gilt vault, adorned with pillars, pilasters, mosaic and 
basso-relievos, and terminated at both ends by equestri- 
an statues, one of Constantine, the other of Charle- 
magne. A fountain at each extremity supplies a stream 
sufficient to keep a reservoir always full, in order to 
carry off every unseemly object, and perpetually refresh 
and purify the air and the pavement. Opposite the five 
portals of the vestibule are the five doors of the church ; 
three are adorned with pillars of the finest marble ; that 
in the middle has valves of bronze. 

As you enter, you behold the most extensive hall 
ever constructed by human art, expanded in magnificent 
perspective -before you ; advancing up the nave, you 
are delighted with the beauty of the variegated marble 
under your feet, and with the splendor of the golatffi 
vault over your head. The lofty Corinthian pilasters 
with their bold entablature, the intermediate niches 
with their statues, the arcades with the graceful figures 
that recline on the curves of their arches, charm your 
eye in succession as you pass along. — But how great 
your astonishment when you reach the foot of the altar, 
and standing in the centre of the church contemplate 
the four superb vistas that open around you ; and then 
raise your eyes to the dome, at the prodigious elevation 
of four hundred feet, extended like a firmament over 
your head, and presenting, in glowing mosaic, the 
companies of the just, the choirs of celestial spirits, and 
the whole hierarchy of heaven arrayed in the presence 
of the Eternal, whose " throne high raised above all 
height,' ' crowns the awful scene. 

When you have feasted your eye with the grandeur 
of this uparalleled exhibition in the whole, you will 



AND MISCELLANEOUS. 213 

turn to the parts, the ornaments, and the furniture, 
which you will find perfectly corresponding with the 
magnificent form of the temple itself. Around the 
dome rise four other cupolas, small indeed when com- 
pared to its stupendous magnitude, but of great boldness 
when considered separately ; six more, three on either 
side, cover the different divisions of the aisles, and six 
more of greater dimensions canopy as many chapels, or, 
to speak more properly, as many churches. All these 
inferior cupolas are like the grand dome itself, lined 
with mosaics ; many indeed of the master-pieces of 
painting which formerly graced this edifice, have been 
removed and replaced by mosaics which retain all the 
tints and beauties of the originals, impressed on a more 
solid and durable substance. The aisles and altars are 
adorned with numberless antique pillars, that border 
the church all around, and form a secondary and sub- 
servient order. The variegated walls are, in many 
places, ornamented with festoons, wreaths, angels, 
tiaras, crosses, and medallions representing the effigies 
of different pontiffs. These decorations are of the most 
beautiful and rarest species of marble, and often of 
excellent workmanship. Various monuments rise in 
different parts of the church ; but, in their size and ac- 
companiments, so much attention has been paid to 
general as well as local effect, that they appear rather 
as parts of the original plan, than posterior additions. 
Some of these are much admired for their groups and 
exquisite sculpture, and form very conspicuous features 
in the ornamental part of this noble temple. 

The high altar stands under the dome, and thus as 
it is the most important, so it becomes the most striking 
object. In order to add to its relief and give it all its 
majesty, according to the ancient custom still retained 
in the patriarchal churches at Rome, and in most of the 
cathedrals in Italy, a lofty canopy rises above it, and 
forms an intermediate break or repose for the eye be- 
tween it and the immensity of the dome above. The 
form, materials, and magnitude of this decoration are 
equally astonishing. Below the steps of the altar, and 



214 SUBJECTS DESCRIPTIVE 

of course some distance from it, at the corners, on four 
massive pedestals, rise four twisted pillars fifty feet in 
height, and support an entablature which bears the 
canopy itself topped with a cross. The whole soars to 
the elevation of one hundred and thirty-two feet from 
the pavement, and, excepting the pedestals, is of 
Corinthian brass ! the most lofty massive work of that 
or of any other metal, now known. But this brazen 
edifice, for so it may be called, notwithstanding its 
magnitude, is so disposed as not to obstruct the view 
by concealing the chancel and veiling the Cathedral or 
Chair of St. Peter. This ornament is also of bronze, 
and consists of a group of four gigantic figures, repre- 
senting the four principal Doctors of the Greek and 
Latin churches, supporting the patriarchal chair of St. 
Peter. The chair is a lofty throne elevated to the 
height of seventy feet from the pavement ; a circular 
window tinged with yellow throws from above a mild 
splendor around it, so that the whole not unfitly repre- 
sents the pre-eminence of the apostolic See, and is 
acknowledged to form a most becoming and majestic 
termination to the first of Christian temples. 



DESCRIPTION OF .ETNA. 

At day break we set off from Catania to visit Mount 
JEtna, that venerable and respectable father of moun- 
tains. His base and his immense declivities, are cover- 
ed with a numerous progeny of his own ; for every great 
eruption produces a new mountain ; and, perhaps, by 
the number of these, better than by any other method, 
the number of eruptions, and the age of JEtna itself, 
might be ascertained. 

The whole mountain is divided into three distinct 
regions, called La Regione Cult a, or Piedmontese, the 
fertile region ; La Regione Sylvosa or Nemorosa, the 
woody region ; and La Regione Deserta or Scoperta, 
the barren region. These three are as different, both 
in climate and productions, as the three zones of the 
earth ; and, perhaps, with equal propriety, might have 



AND MISCELLANEOUS. 215 

been styled the Torrid, the Temperate, and the Frigid 
Zone. The first region surrounds the mountain, and 
constitutes the most fertile country in the world on all 
sides of it, to the extent of fourteen or fifteen miles, 
where the woody region begins. It is composed al- 
most entirely of lava, which, after a number of ages 
is at last converted into the most fertile of all soils. 
At Nicolosi, which is twelve miles up the mountain, we 
found the barometer at 27 : 1-2, at Catania it stood at 
29: 8 1-2, 



After leaving Nicolosi in an hour and a half s travel- 
ling over barren ashes and lava, we arrived on the con- 
fines of the Regione Sylvosa, or Temperate Zone. As 
soon as we entered those delightful forests, we seemed 
to have gotten into another world. The air which be- 
fore was sultry and hot, was now cool and refreshing ; 
and every breeze was loaded with a thousand perfumes, 
the whole ground being covered with the richest aro- 
matic plants. Many parts of this region are surely 
the most delightful spots upon earth. This mountain 
unites every beauty, and every horror ; and the most 
opposite and dissimilar objects in nature. Here you 
observe a gulf, that formerly threw out torrents of fire, 
now covered with the most luxuriant vegetation ; and 
from an object of terror, become one of delight. 
Here you gather the most delicious fruit, rising from 
what was but lately a barren rock. Here the 
ground is covered with flowers; and we wander 
over these beauties and contemplate this wilderness of 
sweets, without considering that under our feet, but a 
few yards separate us from lakes of liquid fire and 
brimstone. But our astonishment still increases, upon 
raising our eyes to the higher regions of the mountain. 
There we behold in perpetual union the two elements 
which are at perpetual war ; an immense gulf of fire, 
forever existing in the midst of snows which it has not 
power to melt and immense fields of snow and ice for- 
ever surrounding this gulf of fire, which they have not 



216 SUBJECTS DESCRIPTIVE 

the power to extinguish. The woody region of iEtna 
ascends for about eight or nine miles, and forms a zone 
or girdle of the brightest green all around the moun- 
tain. This night we passed through little more than 
half of it; arriving some time before sun- set at our 
lodging, which was a large cave, formed by one of the 
most ancient and venerable lavas. Here we were de- 
lighted with the contemplation of many beautitul ob- 
jects ;the prospect on all sides being immense ; and we 
already seemed to have been lifted from the earth, and. 
to have gotten into a new world. After a comfortable 
*;leep, and other refreshments, at eleven o'clock at 
night we recommenced our expedition. 

Our guide now began to display his great knowledge 
of the mountain, and we followed him with implicit 
confidence, where, perhaps, human foot had never trod 
before. Sometimes through gloomy forests, which by 
day light were delightful, but now, from the universal 
darkness, the rustling of the trees, the heavy dull bel- 
lowing of the mountain, the vast expanse of ocean stretch- 
ed at an immense distance below us, inspired a kind 
of awful horror. Sometimes we found ourselves as- 
cending great rocks of lava, where, if our mules should 
make but a false step, we might be thrown headlong 
over the precipice. — However, by the assistance of our 
guide, we overcame all these difficulties, and in two 
hours we had gotten above the region of vegetation, and 
had left the forests of iEtna far below, which now ap- 
peared like a dark and gloomy gulf surrounding the 
mountain. The prospect before us was of a very dif- 
ferent nature ; we beheld an expanse of snow and ice 
which alarmed us exceedingly, and almost staggered 
our resolution. In the centre of this we descried the 
high summit of the mountain, rearing its tremendous 
head, and vomiting out torrents of smoke. It, indeed 
appeared altogether inaccessible, from the vast extent 
of the fields of snow and ice which surrounded it. 



The ascent for some time was not steep, and as the 



AND MISCELLANEOUS. 217 

surface of the snow sunk a little, we had tolerable good 
footing ; but as it soon began to grow steeper, we found 
our labour greatly increased ; however, we determined 
to persevere, calling to mind that the emperor Adrian, 
and the philosopher Plato, had undergone the same ; 
and from a like motive, too, to see the rising sun from 
the top of iEtna. 



\ 

From this spot it was only about three hundred yards 
to the summit, where we arrived in full time to see the 
most wonderful and sublime sight in nature. 

But here description must ever fall short ; for no im- 
agination has dared to form an idea of so glorious and 
so magnificent a scene, — Neither is there on the sur- 
face of this globe, any one point that unites so many aw- 
ful and sublime objects. — The immense elevation from 
the surface of the earth, drawn as it were to a single 
point, without any neighboring mountain for the senses 
and imagination to rest upon, and recover from their as- 
tonishment in their way down to the world. This 
point or pinnacle, raised on the brink of a bottomless 
gulf, as old as the world, often discharging rivers of 
fire, and throwing out burning rocks, with a noise that 
shakes the whole island. Add to this, the unbounded 
extent of the prospect, comprehending the greatest di- 
versity and the most beautiful scenery in nature ; with 
the rising sun, advancing in the east, to illuminate the 
wondrous scene. 

The whole atmosphere by degrees kindled up, and 
showed dimly and faintly the boundless prospect around. 
Both sea and land looked dark and confused, as if only 
emerging from their original chaos, and light and dark- 
ness seemed still undivided ; till the morning, by de- 
grees advancing, completed the separation. The stars 
are extinguished, and the shades disappear. The for- 
ests, which but now seemed black and bottomless gulfs, 
from which no ray was reflected to show their form or 
colours, appear a new creation rising to the sight ; 

19 



218 SUBJECTS DESCRIPTIVE 

catching life and beauty from every increasing beam- 
The scene still enlarges, and the horizon seems to wi- 
den and expand itself on all sides, till the sun, like the 
great Creator, appears in the east, and with his plastic 
ray completes the mighty scene. All appears enchant- 
ment ; and it is with difficulty we can believe we are 
still on earth. — The senses, unaccustomed to the sub- 
limity of such a scene, are bewildered and confounded j 
and it is not till after some time, that they are capable 
of separating and judging of the objects that compose 
it. — The body of the sun is seen rising from the ocean, 
immense tracts both of sea and land intervening ; the 
islands of Lipari, Panari, Alicudi, Strombolo, and Vol- 
cano, with their smoking summits, appear under your 
feet ; and you look down on the whole of Sicily as on a 
map ; and can trace every river through all its wind- 
ings, from its source to its mouth. The view is abso- 
lutely boundless on every side ; nor is there any one 
object, within the circle of vision, to interrupt it ; so 
that the sight is every where lost in the immensity ; 
.and I am persuaded it is only from the imperfection of 
^ur organs that the coasts of Africa, and even of Greece, 
iare not discovered, as they are certainly above the horizon. 
'The circumference of the visible horizon on the top of 
JEtna cannot be less than two thousand miles. 



But the most beautiful part of the scene is certainly 
the mountain itself; the island of Sicily and the nu- 
merous islands lying round it. All these, by a kind of 
magic in vision, that I am at a loss to account for, seem 
as if they were brought close round the skirts of iEtna ■ 
the distances appearing reduced to nothing. 



The Eegione Deserta, or the frigid zone of JEtna, is 
the first object that calls your attention. It is marked 
out by a circle of snow and ice, which extends on all 



AND MISCELLANEOUS 219 

sides to the distance of about eight miles. In the cen- 
tre of this circle, the great crater of the mountain rears 
its burning head ; and the regions of intense cold and 
of intense heat seem for ever to be united in the same 
point. 



The Eegione Deserta is immediately succeeded by 
the Sylvosa, or the woody region, which forms a circle 
or girdle of the most beautiful green, which surrounds 
the mountain on all sides, and is certainly one of the 
most delightful spots on earth. This presents a re- 
markable contrast with the desert region. It is not 
smooth and even like the greatest part of the latter ;. 
but is finely variegated by an infinite number of those 
beautiful little mountains that have been formed by the 
different eruptions of iEtna. All these have now ac- 
quired a wonderful degree of fertility, except a very 
few that are but newly formed ; that is, within these 
five or six hundred years ; for it certainly requires some 
thousands to bring them to their greatest degree of per- 
fection. We looked down into the craters of these, and 
attempted, but in vain, to number them. 

The circumference of this zone or great circle on 
JEtna, is not less than seventy or eighty miles. It is 
every where succeeded by the vineyards, orchards and 
corn fields that compose the Eegione Culta, or the fer- 
tile region. This last zone is much broader than th& 
others, and extends on all sides to the foot of the moun 
tain. Its whole circumference, according to Recupero, 
is 183 miles. It is likewise covered with a number of 
little conical and spherical mountains, and exhibits a 
wonderful variety of forms and colors, and makes a de- 
lightful contrast with the other two regions. It is bound- 
ed by the sea to the south and south-east, and on all its 
other sides by the rivers Simethus & Alcantara, which 
run almost round it. The whole course of these rivera 
is seen at once, and all their beautiful windings through 
these fertile valleys, looked upon as the favorite posses- 
sion of Ceres herself. 



220 SUBJECTS DESCRIPTIVE 

Cast your eyes a little farther, and you embrace the 
whole island, and see all its cities, rivers and moun- 
tains, delineated in the great chart of Nature : all the 
adjacent islands, the whole coast of Italy r as far as your 
eye can reach ; for it is no where bounded, but every 
w r here lost in space. On the sun's first rising, the sha- 
dow of the mountain extends across the whole island, 
and makes a large track visible even in the sea and in 
the air. By degrees this is shortened, and in a little 
time is confined only to the neighborhood of iEtna. 

We had now time to examine a fourth region of that 
wonderful mountain, very different, indeed, from the 
others, and productive of very different sensations : but 
which has undoubtedly given being to all the rest ; 1 
mean the region of fire. 

The present crater of this immense volcano is a cir- 
cle of about three miles and a half in circumference, 
It goes shelving down on each side, and forms a regular 
hollow like a vast amphitheatre. From many places of 
this space issue volumes of sulphureous smoke, which be- 
ing much heavier than the circumambient air, instead of 
rising in it, as smoke generally does, immediately on its 
getting out of the crater, rolls down the side of the moun- 
tain like a torrent till coming to that part of the atmos- 
phere of the same specific gravity with itself, it shoots off 
horizontally, and forms a large track in the air, according 
to the direction of the wind, which, happily for us, car- 
ried it exactly to the side opposite to that where we 
were placed. The crater is so hot that it is very dan- 
gerous, if not impossible to go down into it ; besides, 
the smoke is very incommodious, and, in many places, 
me surface is so soft, there have been instances of peo- 
ple sinking into it, and paying for their temerity with 
their lives. Near the centre of the crater is the great 
mouth of the volcano ; — that tremendous gulf so cele- 
Drated in all age*, and looked upon as the terror and 
scourge both of this and another life. We beheld it 
with awe and with horror, and were not surprised that 
it had been considered as the place of eternal punish- 
aient. When we reflect upon the immensity of its 



AND MISCELLANEOUS. 



221 



depth, the vast cells and caverns whence so many lavas 
have issued ; the force of its internal fire, to raise up 
those lavas to so vast a height, to support as it were in the 
air, and even to force them over the very summit of the 
crater, with all the dreadful accompaniments ; the boil- 
ing of the matter, the shaking of the mountain, the 
explosion of flaming rocks, &c; we must allow that the 
most enthusiastic imagination, in the midst of all its 
terrors, hardly ever formed an idea of a hell more 
dreadful. 



SNOWDON. 
Few persons mount a towering eminence, but feel 
their souls elevated ; the whole frame acquires unwont- 
ed elasticity ; and the spirits flow, as it were, in one 
aspiring stream of satisfaction and delight. For what 
can be more animating than, from one spot, to behold 
the pomp of man, and the pride of nature, lying at our 
feet ? Who can refrain from being charmed, when, 
observing those innumerable sections, which divide a 
long extent of country into mountains and vales ; and 
which, in their turn, subdivide into fields, glens, and 
dingles; containing trees of every height; cottages of 
the humble ; and mansions of the rich ; here groups of 
cattle, there shepherds tending their flocks : and, at 
intervals, viewing, with admiration, a broad expansive 
river, sweeping its course along an extended vale : now 
encircling a mountain, and now overflowing a valleys 
here gliding beneath large boughs of trees ; there rolling 
over rough ledges of rocks ; in one place concealing 
itself in the heart of a forest under huge massy cliffs,. 
which impend over it ; and in another washing the walls 
of some ivied ruin, bosomed in wood ! " Behold the 
Eternal," is written on every object ; and in every view 
we are ready to exclaim with the poet of the East, "If 
there be a paradise upon earth, it is this, it is this." Never 
can I cease to be grateful for the satisfaction [ experi- 
enced, on the summit of immortal Snowdon ! Afiet 

19» 



222 SUBJECTS DESCRIPTIVE 

paying a visit to the waterfall of Nant-Mill, we set out 
from a small cottage, situated on the side of the lake 
C well in. It was a morning of August ; not a breath 
of air relieved the heat of the atmosphere ; and not a 
tree offered a momentary shelter. In all the times the 
guide had travelled up this great mountain, he confessed 
that he had never been so oppressed with the intensity 
of the heat. Climbing for the space of an hour, some- 
times over bogs, and sometimes over heaths, we arrived 
at what we earnestly hoped was the apex of the moun- 
tain : — it was, however, merely the first station. Who 
could fail to remember the fine passage in Pope, imitated 
from Drummond of Hawthornden, where he compares 
the progress of man, in the attainment of science, to 
the enlarged views that are spread progressively before 
the eye. in climbing lofty mountains ? The whole pas- 
sage is eminently beautiful. As we ascended, those 
mountains, which from below bore the character of 
sublimity, shrunk into mere eminences : others more 
noble, rose in the perspective, and proceeding higher, 
they appeared, as it were, to approach us, and to be no 
longer at a distance. The road now lay over a smooth, 
mossy heath, where we sat down, entirely overcome 
with heat and fatigue. After resting for some time, the 
guide led us to the edge of a precipice, nearly fifteen 
hundred feet in depth ; at the bottom of which appeared 
the dark green lake of Llyn-y-GIas, and Llyn-Llydaw. 
We approached to the edge of it, it appeared the fit 
abode of an echo ! 

The sombre lake of Llyn-y-Glas associates itself, in 
some degree, with that of a lake in the neighborhood 
of Bergen, the capital of Norway. That lake is, how- 
ever, much darker than this : it is surrounded by high 
rocks ; its water is motionless, and the stars being 
discerned on its bosom at noon-day, those who have 
surmounted the difficulty of climbing the rocks, become . 
on a sudden, so transported with the view of this "Hea- 
ven reversed," that they feel an indescribable, and 
almost uncontrollable, desire to throw themselves into 
it. We had not much time to contemplate the scene 



AND MISCELLANEOUS. 223 

before us ; as a cloud suddenly appeared to rise out of 
the rocks beneath ; and, rolling into a globular form, 
seemed like an immense balloon, balanced in the air; 
which, rising gradually up to the place where we stood, 
shut out the whole of this tremendous scene. Viewed 
from below, this precipice excites emotions of sublimity, 
unmixed with apprehensions ) from its edge, terror is 
predominant. In the latter instance, our thoughts are, 
for a time, concentrated in our fears ; in the former, the 
mind, upon the instant, wings its course to heaven! 

Height and depth create a much more awful sensa- 
tion than length or width. The difference between 
looking up and looking down a precipice is well marked 
by Mr. Jefferson, in. the account he furnished the Mar- 
quis de Chastelluse, of the Virginian bridge of rocks. 
" Though the sides of the bridge," says he, " are pro- 
vided, in some parts, with a parapet of fixed rocks, yet 
few men have resolution to walk to them,, and look over 
into the abyss. You involuntarily fall on your hands and 
knees, creep to the parapet, and look over it. Looking 
from the height about a minute, gave me a violent head 
ache. If the view from the top be painful and intolera- 
ble, that from below is delightful in the extreme. It is 
impossible for the emotions, arising from the sublime, 
to be felt beyond what they are on the sight of so beauti- 
ful an arch, so elevated and so light, springing up, as 
it were, to Heaven. The rapture of the spectator, is 
indescribable." After ascending above half a mile, we 
again paused to take a look around us. Below, appeared 
those innumerable mountains, by which Snowdon is, 
on all sides, surrounded. These are sometimes studded 
with lakes, which appear like large mirrors, placed for 
the purpose of reflecting the clouds, which are seen in 
three different directions. They glide over our heads, 
their shadows are depicted on the mountains ; they are 
reflected in the lakes below. Some of the mountains 
are round upon their summits ; others wear a triangu- 
lar appearance ; while some rise like pyramids. Now 
(hey seem like backs of immense whales, or couchant 
Jons ; ani while the apices of some resemble the cra^ 



224 SUBJECTS DESCRIPTIVE 

ters of volcanos, the more elevated lift their points above 
those cluuds, which roll, in columns, along their gigan- 
tic sides. Near the place where we paused to observe 
this fine prospect, we stopped to quench our almost un- 
governable thirst at a spring, which wells out of the 
side of the mountain. No travellers over the deserts of 
Ethiopia were ever more rejoiced at coming to an un- 
expected fountain, than we were at this delightful 
spring. " O Fons," we were ready to exclaim. 

l< Fons Snowdonise, splendidior vitro, 
Dulcedineque mero, non sine floribus, 
Cras donaberis haedo." 

Well may the nations of the east consecrate their 
wells and fountains ! Ere we departed, we took large 
libations ; consecrated it with our praises and our bles- 
sings ; and called it Hygeia's fountain. 

After climbing over masses of crags and rocks, we 
ascended the peak of Snowdon, the height of which is 
3571 feet above the level of the Irish sea. Arrived at 
its summit, a scene presented itself magnificient beyond 
the powers of language !— Indeed language is indigent 
and impotent, when it would presume to sketch scenes 
on which the great Eternal has placed his matchless 
finger with delight. — From this point are seen more 
than five and twenty lakes. — Seated on one of the crags 
it was long before the eye, unaccustomed to measure 
such elevations, could accommodate itself to scenes so ad- 
mirable :-— the whole appearing as if there had been a war 
of the elements, and as if we were the only inhabitants 
of the globe permitted to contemplate the ruins of the 
world. — Rocks and mountains, which, when observed 
from below, bear all the evidences of sublimity, when 
viewed from the summit of Snowdon, are blended with 
others as dark, as rugged, and as elevated as themselves 
the whole resembling the swellings of an agitated ocean 
The extent of this prospect appears almost unlimited. 
The four kingdoms are seen at once ; Wales, England, 
Scotland, and Ireland! forming the finest panorama 
Ihe empire can boast. The circle begins with the moun- 



AND MISCELLANEOUS. 225 

tains of Cumberland and Westmoreland ; those of In- 
gleborough and Penygent, in the county of York, and 
the hills of Lancashire, follow ; then are observed the 
counties of Chester, Flint, and Denbigh, and a portion 
of Montgomeryshire. Nearly the whole of Merioneth 
succeeds ; and, drawing a line with the eye along the di- 
ameter of the circle, we take in those regions, stretching 
from the triple-crown of Cader Idris, to the sterile crags 
<i>f Carnedd's David, and Llewellyn. Snowdon, rising 
in the centre, appears as if he could touch the south 
with his right hand, and the north with his left. Sure- 
ly Caesar sat upon these crags, when he formed the da- 
ring conception of governing the world ! At this 
moment, how contemptible appeared the vanity and fol- 
ly of Xerxes, when he formed the resolution of cutting 
through a mountain which casts its shadow more than 
eighty miles : — " Athos, thou proud and aspiring moun- 
tain, that liftest thy head unto the heavens, be not so 
audacious as to put obstacles in my way, If thou doest, 
I will cut thee down, and throw thee headlong into the 
sea." From Cader Idris, the eye, pursuing the orbit 
of the bold geographical outline, glances over the bay 
of Cardigan, and reposes for a while on the summit of 
the Rivel. After observing the indented shores of Car- 
narvonshire, it travels over a long line of ocean, till, in 
the extremity of the horizon, the blue mountains of 
Wicklow terminate the perspective. Those mountains 
gradually sink along the coast, till they are lost to the 
eye ; which, ranging along the expanse, at length, as 
weary of the journey, reposes on the Island of Man and 
the distant mountains of Scotland. The intermediate 
space is occupied by the sides and summits of moun- 
tains, hollow crags, masses of rocks, the towers of Car- 
narvon, the fields of Anglesea, with woods, lakes, and 
glens, scattered in magnificient confusion. A scene 
like this commands our feelings to echo, as it were, in 
unison to its grandeur and sublimity ; the thrill of as- 
tonishment and the transport of admiration seem to con- 
tend for the mastery j and nerves are touched that nev- 
er thrilled before ! We seem as if our former existence 



226 SUBJECTS DESCRIPTIVE 

were annihilated ; and as if a new epoch were commenc- 
ed. Another world opens upon us ; and an unlimited 
orbit appears to display itself, as a theatre for our am- 
bition. In viewing scenes so decidedly magnificent, to 
which neither the pen of the poet, nor the pencil of the 
painter, can ever promise justice ; and the contemplation 
of which has the power of making ample atonement for 
having studied mankind ; the soul, expanding and sub- 
limed, quickens with a spirit of divinity, and appears, 
as it were, associated with the Deity himself. Few 
ever mounted this towering eminence, but, for a time, 
they became wiser and better. Here the proud may 
learn humility : the unfortunate acquire confidence ; 
and the man, who climbs Snowdon as an atheist, feels 
as it were, ere he descends, an ardent desire to fall 
down and worship its Creator ! Before our guide could 
induce us to leave this spot, the clouds formed around 
us ; and at the moment in which we passed the Red 
Ridge, a peal of thunder murmured among the moun- 
tains. He, who has passed this tremendous rampire, 
will conceive the effect of the explosion, and the danger 
of our situation. The Red Ridge is a long narrow pass, 
elevated more than two thousand feet above the vale ; 
the top of it, in some places, is not more than twelve 
feet across ; and, by a slight inclination of the eye, a 
rocky valley is seen on one side, as deep, and nearly as 
perpendicular as the one on the other. The lightning 
now flashed over our heads ; and the thunder, as we 
might have expected from the intensity of the day, roll- 
ed in sonorous volumes around us. If the prospect from 
the summit of Snowdon had been the finest we had ev- 
er seen, so were these the most tremendous sounds that 
we had ever heard. Upon returning to Rethgelart, a 
sequestered village, rendered famous for the retirement 
of Vortigern, who insulated himself upon a lofty rock, 
since called the fort of Ambrosius, the moon, rising from 
behind the crags, threw a matchless glory over all the 
heavens. A transition more delightful to the imagina- 
tion, it were scarcely possible to conceive. 



AND MISCELLANEOUS. 227 

THE OCEAN. 

The ocean, which Sophocles considered the finest and 
most beautiful object in nature, fills every contempla- 
tive mind with that grateful awe, which bears witness 
that it acknowledges the hand of the Deity ; and that 
we know the value of that religion which a French 
writer would call " the science of the soul," the lan- 
guage of which is that of the mind, in unison with the 
affections. This vast collection of globules, and foun- 
tain of vapor, occupies more than three parts of the 
globe; is the source of circulation and growth to all 
organized bodies ; and the general reservoir of vege- 
table and animal decompositions, with sulphureous and 
mineral substances. While the myriads of animals it 
contains, no pen could ever number. Neither could it 
enumerate the multitude of shells, gems, and plants, 
which grow to us invisibly ; and to which, doubtless, 
the present species, genera, orders, and classes, could 
not be referred. Some floating with the wind ; others 
at the mercy of every wave ; some secured to stones 
and rocks ; some rising to the surface from the bottom : 
and others, sheltered from agitations, rising not more 
than two inches above the great bed of the ocean ; re- 
ceiving nourishment from its saline particles; and giv- 
ing sustenance, in return, to innumerable fishes and in- 
sects. Thales was, therefore, not far from the truth 
when he said that the Deity formed all things out of 
waters — nor Proclus, when he taught that the ocean 
was the cause of secondary natures of every descrip- 
tion. "When we sit upon the ledges of rocks, rising over 
the ocean ; when we behold its boundless surface, agi- 
tated with perpetual motion ; and when we listen to 
the music of its murmur, or the deep intonations of its 
roar, what amplitude doth the mind acquire, as to ex- 
tent, to numbers and duration ! Amid storms and tem- 
pests it is that nature assumes the most terrific attitudes. 
Those who have beheld the waves beating along the 
recesses of Norway, heard the vast ice islands of Spit- 
zenbergen crash against each other when contending 
winds strive for the mastery ; and those who have had 



. S8 SUBJECTS DESCRIPTIVE 

the power of contrasting them with the tempests of the 
Cape, where the electric fluid, bursting from an azure 
sky foretells the monsoon, so admirably delineated by 
Camoens, feel an awful sensation while reflecting on 
the length of ages that was requisite to acquire a know- 
ledge of the watery waste. Nature often speaks with 
most miraculous organ; and sometimes with force even 
equal to that of the decalogue. " If I ascend into 
heaven," says the Hebrew poet, " thou art there ; If I 
take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the utter- 
most parts of the sea, even there shall thy hand lead 
me, and thy right hand hold me." Coasting along the 
rocks of Portugal, the imagination listens to the hymn 
of " Adeste Fideles ;" along those of Sicily, it rests 
upon the " O Sanctissima" of the Sicilian mariners; 
along the shores of the Adriatic, the soul inhales delight 
from the poems of Petrarch and Tasso ; and when gli- 
ding along the waters of Palestine, we recall that 
awful period when " the earth was without form, and 
void ; and darkness sat upon the face of the deep." 
The ocean, a solitude more solemn and awful than that 
of mountains, forests, or deserts, penetrates the soul 
with a spirit of devotion. Every agitation produces 
new beauty or new wonder : the miracles of the firma- 
ment are reflected in every wave, in the unceasing rest- 
lessness of which we recognize the ever marching pro- 
gress of time : and, as the waves gradually accumulate 
at a distance, seeming to collect their strength in their 
approach to the shore, and fall on the beach in the form 
of a semicircular cascade, contemplation seems to have 
the power of producing ambrosial slumbers ; and silently 
whispering to the imagination that the soul is of ethe- 
fial origin and of eternal duration, we seem for a 
moment to be, like Enoch, translated to heaven. 
The rising and setting of the sun ; the splendor of 
Orion in a night of Autumn ; and the immensity 
of the Ocean, far beyond the pencil of painters, or 
the imagery of poets, awaken ideas of power awful 
and magnificent. Raised above the level of hu- 
man thought, the soul acknowledges a wild and ter- 



AND MISCELLANEOUS. 229 

rible grandeur ; while, recognizing in the hea* 

Tens, a 

" Sea covering sea : 

Sea without shore;" 

Chaos seems, as it were, to have yielded to order ; and 
infinity, in one solemn picture, astonishes every faculty 
of the mind. But 

44 Who shall tempt, with wandering feet, 

" The dark, unfathomed, infinite abyss, 

* And, through the palpable obscure, find out 

" His uncouth way, or spread his airy flight, 

u Upborne with indefatigable wings, 

41 Over the vast abrupt!" 

In the Ocean we contemplate a Being, capable of mea- 
suring all its waters " in the hollow of his hand ;" and 
who seems to our finite imaginations to have exercised, 
in forming it, the greatest possible exertion of omnipo- 
tence. Philosophy itself acknowledges, in its contem- 
plation, all the fire and enthusiasm of poetry. In man, 
and in the works of man, we observe no permanent or- 
der. The laws of Nature on the contrary, forever are 
the same ; operating with equal constancy, whether in 
the Scythian, the Atlantic, or the Indian ; the Antarctic 
or Pacific. When the waves swell with storms, the 
sky darkens with clouds, and rocks reverberate, till echo 
wearies repeating their sounds ; how vast is the con- 
ception of a power alone capable of commanding obe- 
dience to his mandate : 

44 Silence, ye troubled waves; and thou, deep, peace," 
Said then th> omnific word; " Your discord cease." 



THE VALE OF TEMPE. 

If towering and impending rocks, abrupt and gigantie 
mountains, and above all, the ocean, elevate the mind 
and exalt it above mortality, the woody dingle, the deep 

20 



230 SUBJECTS DESCRIPTIVE 

and romantic glen, the rocky valley, and the wide, 
the rich, the fascinating vale, associating ideas of 
rural comfort and of peaceful enjoyment, cheerful 
industry, robust health, and tranquil happiness, draw 
us from subjects too high for human thought, chain 
us to the earth, and enchant us with magic spells. 
No country abounds more in those characters in which 
Nature delights to speak to the imagination, than Greece. 
Her mountains were not more the theme of her poets 
than her vales and her valleys. In that fine country, no 
vale was more celebrated than that of Tempe : a vale 
in which the peasants frequently assembled, in order to 
give entertainments to each other, and to offer sacrifices. 
A Greek writer calls it " a festival for the eyes," and 
the gods were believed frequently to wander in it. Of 
this enchanting spot, Pliny has given a description in 
the fourth book of his Natural History; but iElian has 
left the most copious and accurate account of it. 
" Tempe," says he, " is situated between the moun- 
tains of Ossa and Pelion, which are the highest moun- 
tains in Th^ssaly ; and are divided in this place with, 
a singular kind of attention. They enclose a valley of 
five miles in length, but which in breadth often does 
not exceed a hundred feet. In the middle flows the 
river Peneus, which, at first, is little more than a catar- 
act ; but, by the addition of many smaller streams, it at 
length assumes considerable magnitude. Among the 
rich shrubs upon its banks, are various beautiful wind- 
ings and recesses ; not the works of human hands, but 
of spontaneous nature, which seems to have formed 
every thing in this spot with the solicitude of a mother. 
A profusion of ivy is seen in all parts of the woods, 
which, with the vine, ascend the tops of the highest 
trees, cling round their branches, and fall luxuriantly 
between them. The different species of convolvulus, 
which grow upon the sides of the hills, throw their 
white flowers and creeping foliage over the rocks ; 
while in the vale, or wherever they can find a level 
surface, groves of all kinds, in venerable arches or ca- 
pricious forms, afford a cool and refreshing retreat. Nor 



AND MISCELLANEOUS. 231 

are there wanting frequent falls of water, with the most 
pure and crystal springs, sweet to drink, and wholesome 
to the bather. The thrush, the wood lark, and the 
nightingale, procreate in the thickets, and with their 
songs shorten the way, and soothe the ears of the travel- 
ler ; who finds, in every path, arbors and grottos, and 
seats of repose. The Peneus still continues through 
the vale, idly, as it were, and with a glassy smoothness ; 
while the depending boughs which crowd over its sur- 
face, yield an almost constant shade to those who navi- 
gate the river." In the vale of Tempe, Ford has laid 
the scene of a contest between a nightingale and a lu- 
tanist ; finely imitated from a passage in Strada's Pro- 
lusions. 

te Passing from Italy to Greece, the tales, 
Which poets of an elder time have feigned, 
To glorify their Tempe, bred in me 
Desire of visiting that paradise. 
To Thessaly I came; and living private, 
I day by day frequented silent groves, 
And solitary walks. One morning early 
This accident encounter'd me. I heard 
The sweetest and most ravishing contention, 
That art and nature ever were at strife at." 

This contest was begun by a nightingale, who, chanc* 
ing to hear a lutanist play several airs upon his lute, 
endeavored to surpass them. In this attempt, however* 
the unfortunate bird failed : on which — 



And broke her heart I" 



Down dropt she on the lute, 



POETIC PIECES. 



ON TIME. 

MOV'D by a strange mysterious power, 
That hastes along the rapid hour, 

I touch the deep ton'd string* 
E'en now I see his wither'd face, 
Beneath yon tower's mouldering base, 

Where mossy vestments cling* 

Bark roll'd his cheerless eye around, 
Severe his grisly visage frown'd, 

No locks hi* head array 'd, 
He grasp'd a hero's antique bust, 
The marble crumbled into dust, 

And sunk amidst the shade. 

Malignant triumph fill'd his eyes, 

«' See hapless mortals, see," he cries, 

" How vain your idle schemes 
Beneath my grasp, the fairest form, 
Dissolves and mingles with the worm, 

Thus vanish mortal dreams. 

The works of God ! and man I spoil, 
The proudest proof of human toil, 

I treat as childish toys. 
I crush the noble and the brave, 
Beauty I mar, and in the grave 

I bury human joys." 

Hold ! ruthless phantom — hold ! I cried. 
If thou canst mock the dreams of pride, 

And meaner hopes devour, 
Virtue ! beyond thy reach shall bloom, 
When other charms sink to the tomb, 

She scorns thy envious power* 



POETIC PIECES. 233 

On frosty wings the demon fled, 
Howling, as o'er the wall he sped, 

''Another year is gone!" 
The ruin'd spire, — the crumbling tow'r, 
Nodding, obey'd his awful pow'r, 

As time flew swiftly on. 

Since beauty then to time must bow, 
And age deform the fairest brow, 

Let brighter charms be yours > 
The virtuous mind, embalmed in truth, 
Shall bloom in everlasting youth, 

While time himself endures. 



THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE. 

Not a drum was heard nor a funeral note, 
As his corse o'er the rampart we hurried, 

Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot, 
O'er the grave where our hero we buried. 

We buried him darkly at dead of night, 

The sod with our bayonets turning, 
By the trembling moon-beams' misty light, 

And our lantern dimly burning. 

No useless coffin enclosed his breast, 

Nor in sheet nor in shroud we bound him, 

But like a warrior taking his rest, 
His martial cloak wrapt around hinu 

Few and short were the prayers we said, 

We spoke not a word of sorrow, 
But steadfastly gaz'd on the face of the dead, 

And bitterly thought of the morrow. 

We thought as we hollowed his narrow bed, 

And smooth'd down his lowly pillow, 
That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his h«ad^ 

And we, far away o'er the billow. 

Lightly they'll speak of the spirit that's gone, 

And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him; 
But little he'll reck if they let him sleep on 

In the grave where his comrades have laid him. 

20* 



234 POETIC PIECES. 

Not the half of our heavy task was done, 
When the bell toll'd the hour for retiring", 

And we knew by the distant random gun, 
That the foe was then suddenly firing. 

Slowly and sadly we laid him down, 

From the field of his fame, fresh and gory, 

We carv'd not a line, we raised not a stone, 
But left him alone — with hi» glory. 



THE SAILOR-BOY'S DREAM. 

In slumbers of midnight the sailor-boy lay, 
His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind : 

But, watch worn and weary, his cares flew away, 
And visions of happiness danc'd o'er his mind. 

He dreamt of his home, of his dear native bow'rs, 
And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn ; 

While Memory stood sideways, half cover'd with flow'n> 
And displayed ev'ry rose, but secreted its thorn. 

Then fancy her magical pinions spread wide, 
And bade the young dreamer in ecstacy rise, 

Now far, far behind him the green waters glide, 
And the cot of his forefathers blesses his eyes: 

The jessamine clambers, in flow'r, o'er the thatch, 
And the swallow sings sweet from her nest in the wall, 

All trembling with transport, he raises the latch, 
And the voices of lov'd ones reply to his call; 

A Father bends o'er him with looks of delight — i 
His cheek is impearPd with a mother's warm tear; 

And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss unite 
With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds dear. 

The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast, 
Joy quickens his pulse — all his hardships seem o'er, 

And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest — 
" Kind fate thou hast blest me — T ask for no more." 

Ah! whence is that flame which now bursts on his eye? 
Ah! what is that sound which now larums his ear? 

'Tis the lightning's red glare painting hell on the sky,— 
*Tis the crashing of thunders, the groan of the sphere. 

He springs from his hammock — he flies to the deck, 
Amazement confronts him with images dire; 

Wild winds and waves drive the vessel a wreck, 
The masts fly in splinters, the shrouds are on fire. 

Like mountains the billows tremendously swell : 
In vain the lost wretch calls on Mercy to save, 

Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell, 
And the death -angel flaps his broad wing o'er the ware 



poetic pieces. 236 

Oh ! sailor-boy, woe to thy dream of delight, 
In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss. 

Where now is the picture that Fancy toueh'd bright — 
Thy parents' fond pressure, and love's honied kiss? 

Oh, sailor -boy ! sailor-boy ! never again 
Shall home, love, or kindred thy wishes repay! 

Unblest and unhonor'd, down deep in the main, 
Full many a score fathom thy frame shall decay : 

No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee, 
Or redeem form or fame from the merciless surge; 

But the white foam of waves shall thy winding sheet be, 
And winds in the midnight of winter thy dirge; 

On beds of green sea flow'rs thy limbs shall be laid, 
Around thy white bones the red coral shall grow; 

Of thy fair yellow locks threads of amber be made; 
And ev'ry part suit to thy mansion below. 

Days, months, years, and ages shall circle away, 
And still the vast waters above thee shall roll, 

Earth loses thy pattern for ever and aye : — 
Oh, sailor-boy I sailor-boy J — peace to thy soul! 



ANGLING. 



The south wind is breathing most sweetly to-day, 
The sunshine is veil'd in a mantle of gray, 
The Spring rains are past, and the streams leap along, 
Not brimming nor shrunken, with sparkle and song; 
>Tis the month lov'd by anglers— 'tis beautiful June! — 
Away then, away then, to bright Callikoon ! 

A narrow wild path through the forest is here, 
With light tiny hoof-prints, the trail of the deer! 
Beside and above us, what splendor of green ! 
The eye can scarce pierce the dense branches between. 
How lightly this moss-hillock yields to the foot! 
How gnarl'd is yon bough, and how twisted that root! 
What white and pink clusters the laurel hangs out, 
The air one deep hum from the bees all about! 
The chesnut — 'tis gala day with her — behold 
Her leaves nearly cover'd with plumage of gold! 
Whilst thick in the depths of the coverts below, 
The blackberry blossoms are scattered like snow. 
High up, the brown thresher is tuning her lay, 
The red crested woodpecker hammers away, 
The caw of the crow echoes hoarse from the tops, 
The horn of the locust swells shrilly and stops, 
While knots of bright butterflies flutter around, 
And seeks the strip'd squirrel his cave in the ground. 



236 POETIC PIECES. 

We break from the tree-groups; a glade deep with grast j 

The white clover's breath loads the sense as we pass, 

A sparkle — a streak — a broad glitter is seen 

The bright Caliikoon through its thickets of green! 

"We rush to the banks — its sweet music we hear, 

Its gush, dash and gurgle all blent to the ear, 

No shadows are drawn by the cloud cover'd sun, 

We plunge in the crystal, our sport is begun ; 

Our line where that ripple shoots onward, we throw, 

It sweeps to the foam-spangled eddy below, 

A tremor — a pull — the trout upward is thrown, 

He swings to our basket — the prize is our own. 

We pass the still shallows — a plunge at our side— 
The dive of the muskrat, its terror to hide; 
A clamor is heard, spots are darting from sight — 
The duck with her brood speeding on in affright; 
A rush — the quick water-snipe cleaving the air — 
We pass the still shallows — our prey is not there. 

But here, where the trunk stretches half o'er the brook* 

And slumbers the pool in a leaf-shadow'd nook, 

Where eddies are dimpling and circling away, 

Steal gently, for here lies the king of our prey. 

Throw stilly — if greater the sound meets his ear 

Than the burst of a bubble, you strike him with fear; 

How cautious his touch of the death-hiding bait, 

The rod now is trembling; wait! patiently wait! 

A pull — raise your line, yet most gently — 'twill bring 

The credulous victim more sure to his spring, 

A jerk, and the angle is bent to its length, 

Play the line from the reel or 'twill break with his strength! 

He darts round in foam, but his vigor is past, 

Draw steadily to you — you'll have him at last! 

Raise up, but beware that strong struggle and gasp, 

And the noble snar'd creature is filling your grasp. 

How bright with the water-gloss glitters the pride, 

Of his brown clouded back, red and gold spotted side ! 

But we leave the reft scene of the dead monarch's reign 

Like a despot that moves on to triumph again. 

The voice of the rapid now burthens the air, 

Approach, for our prey's crowded city is there ! 

Here whirlpools, there eddies, here stillness, there foam, 

We ply well our efforts — no further we roam ; 

Our baskets we fill, but our muscles are tired, 

And a shade in the sky tells that day has expired; 

The robin has chanted his vespers and flown; 

The frog from the creek has commenc'd his trombone; 



POETIC PIECES. 237 

The spider has ceas'd his slight furrow to show; 
The brown sprawling shrimp seeks the pebbles below 
The bank then we clamber, our home-path resume, 
The torch-bearing fire-fly to lighten the gloom, 
And dreams of our sleep-fetter'd pillow restore 
Our day-sport, distorted but pleasing, once more. 



THE COUNTRY CLERGYMAN. 

Near yonder copse, where once the garden smil'dj 
And still where many a garden flower grows wild; 
There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, 
The village preacher's modest mansion rose. 
A man he was, to all the country dear, 
And passing rich with forty pounds a year; 
Remote from towns he ran his godly race, 
Nor e'er had chang'd nor wished to change his place*. 
TJnpractic'd he to fawn or seek for power, 
By doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour; 
Far other aims his heart had learn'd to prize, 
More skill'dloraise the wretched than to rise ; 
His house was known to all the vagrant train, 
He chid their wand'rings but reliev'd their pain ; 
The long remember'd beggar was his guest, 
Whose beard descending swept his aged breast; 
The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud, 
Claim'd kindred there, and had his claim allow'd; 
The broken soldier kindly bade to stay, 
Sat by his fire and talk'd the night away, 
Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done, 
Shoulder'd his crutch, and shew'd how fields were won* 
Pleas'd with his guests, the good man learn'd to glow, 
And quite forgot their vices in their woe; 
Careless their merits, or their faults to scan, 
His pity gave 'ere charity began : 
Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, 
And even his failings lean'd to virtue's side; 
But in his duty prompt at every call, 
He watch'd ajnd wept, he felt and pray'd for all; 
And, as a bird each fond endearment tries, 
To tempt its new fledg'd offspring to the skieft; 
He try'd each art, reprov'd each dull delay, 
Allur'd to brighter worlds and led the way. 

Beside the bed where parting life was laid, 
And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismay'd, 
The reverend champion stood, at his control, 
Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul; 



238 POETIC PIECES. 

Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, 

And his last falt'ring accents whisper'd praise. 

At church, with meek and unaffected grace, 

His looks adorn'd the venerable place; 

Truth from his lips prevail'd with double sway, 

And fools who came to scoff remain'd to pray : 

The service past, around the pious man, 

With ready zeal each honest rustic ran ; 

E'en children follow'd with endearing wile, 

And pluck'd his gown, to share the good man's smile: 

His ready smile a parent's warmth exprest, 

Their welfare pleas'd him, and their cares distrest; 

To them his heart, his love, his griefs, were giv'n, 

But all his serious thoughts had rest in heav'n : 

As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, 

Swells from the vale and midway leaves the storm, 

Tho' round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, 

Eternal sunshine settles on its head. 



MARCO BOZZARIS. 

At midnight, in his guarded tent, 

The Turk was dreaming of the hour, 
When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, 

Should tremble at his power; 
In dreams, through camp and court, he bore 
The trophies of a conqueror; 

In dreams, his song of triumph heard; 
Then wore his monarch's signet ring; — 
Then pressed that monarch's throne, — a king: 
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, 

As Eden's garden bird. 

An hour passed on — the Turk awoke; 

That bright dream was his last; 
He woke — to hear his sentry's shriek, 

'« To arms ! they come ! the Greek ! the Greek!" 
He woke — to die midst flame and smoke, 
And shout, and groan and sabre stroke, 
And death-shots falling thick and fast, 
As lightnings from the mountain cloud; 
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, 

Bozzaris cheer his band, 
•' Strike — till the last armed foe expires; 
Strike — for your altars and your fires; 
Strike— -for the green graves of your sire\ 

God— and your native land." 



POETIC PIECES. 

They fought — like brave men, long and well, 
They piled that ground with Moslem slain; 

They conquered — but Bozzaris fell, 
Bleeding at every vein : 
His few surviving comrades saw 

His smile, when rang their proud — cc hurrah," 

And. the red field was won, 

Then saw in death his eyelids close, 

Calmly, as to a night's repose, 
Like flowers at set of sun. 

Come to the bridal chamber, Death ! 

Come to the mother, when she feels, 
For the first time, her first-born's breath; 

Come when the blessed seals, 
Which close the pestilence are broke, 
And crowded cities wail its stroke; 
Come in consumption's ghastly form, 
The earthquake shock, the ocean storm; — 
Come when the heart beats high and warm, 

With banquet-song, and dance, and wine, 
And thou art terrible — the tear 
The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, 
And all we know, or dream, or fear 

Of agony, are thine. 

But to the hero, when his sword 

Has won the battle for the free, 
Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word, 
And in its hollow tones, are heard 

The thanks of millions yet to be. 
Bozzaris ! with the storied brave 

Greece nurtured in her glorys' time, 
Rest thee — there is no prouder grave, 

Even in her own proud clime. 

We tell thy doom without a sigh ; 
For thou art Freedom's now and Fame's— 
One of the few, the immortal names, 

That were not born to die. 



THE AMERICAN FLAG. 

Where Calpe frowns, where Etna flames on high, 

Where Mocha's minarets salute the eye ; 

And where the billows of the ocean roll 

O'er half the globe and flow from pole to pol*— 



240 POETIC PIECES, 

Where'er he sail-d o'er Neptune's old domain, 
A Briton saw, but with a patriot's pain, 
America's proud Flag displayed to view, 
Her thirty stars, and in a field of blue 
Proclaim'd her freedom to each distant zone* 
te Alas!" he sigh'd, " their ships surpass our own, 
And we must tolerate, that rebels thus 
On our own element should vie with us." 
When lo! he saw, or thought he saw, arise, 
For sleep no doubt had seal'd his angry eyes, 
The Genius of the Deep, and heard him say, 
Why are ye not high-spirited as they? 
To see your younger brothers free and great, 
Should rouse your energy, but not your hate; 
Brittannia's sons shall ever rule the waves, 
But 'tis those sons that are no longer slaves; 
They — only they — brave Death in ev'ry form, 
And ride in triumph thro' the impetuous storm; 
Who bold in conscious independence stand, 
Nor bend the knee to kiss a royal hand ; 
Subjects are slaves, tho> in a mild degree; 
But only citizens are dear to me; 
And them I love the most who most are free, 
And give to them the Empire of the Sea, 



THE INTERVIEW BETWEEN FITZ-JAMES 
AND THE LADY OF THE LAKE, 

And now, to issue from the glen, 

No pathway meets the wanderer's ken, 

Unless he climb with footing nice, 

A far projecting precipice; 

The broom's tough roots his ladder made, 

The hazel saplings lent their aid; 

And thus an airy point he won, 

Where, gleaming with the setting sun, 

One burnish'd sheet of living gold, 

Loch-Katrine lay beneath him rolled; 

In all her length far winding lay, 

With promontory, creek and bay, 

And islands that, empurpled bright, 

Floated amid the livelier light; 

And mountains, that like giants stand, 

To centinel enchanted land. 

High on the south, huge Benvenue 

Down to the lake in masses threw 

Crags, knolls, and mounds, confusedly hurPd, 

The fragments of an earlier world; 



POETIC PIECES. 241 

A wildering forest feathered o'er 
His ruined sides and summit hoar, 
While on the north, through middle air, 
Ben-an heaved high his forehead bare. 

From the steep promontory gazed 
The stranger, raptured and amazed; 
And, " What a scene were here, 55 he cried, 
u For princely pomp or churchman's pride !" 



'< Blithe were it then to wander here! 
But now, — beshrew yon nimble deer, — 
Like that same hermit's, thin and spare, 
The copse must give my ev'ning fare; 
Some mossy bank my couch must be, 
Some rustling oak my canopy: 
Yet pass we that; — the war and chase 
Give little choice of resting place; 
A summer night, in green- wood spent, 
Were but to-morrow's merriment; — 
But hosts may in these wilds abound, 
Such as are better missed than found; 
To meet with highland plunderers here 
Were worse than loss of steed or deer. 
I am alone; — my bugle strain 
May call some straggler of the train ; 
Or fall the worst that may betide, 
Ere now this falchion has been tried." 

But scarce again his horn he wound, 
When lo ! forth starting at the sound, 
From underneath an aged oak, 
That slanted from the islet rock, 
A damsel guider of its way, 
A. little skiff shot to the bay, 
That round the promontory steep 
Led its deep line in graceful sweep, 
Eddying, in almost viewless wave, 
The weeping willow twig to lave, 
And kiss, with whispering sound and slow, 
The beach of pebbles bright as snow. 
The boat had touched the silver strand, 
Just as the hunter left his stand, 
And stood concealed amid the brake 
To view this Lady of the Lake. 
The maiden paused, as if again 
She thought to catch the distant strain, 
With head up-raised, and look intent, 
And eye and ear attentive bent, 

21 



242 POETIC PIECES. 

And locks Hung back, and lips apart, 
Like monument of Grecian art ; 
In listening mood she seemed to stand, 
The guardian Naiad of the strand. 

And ne'er did Grecian chisel trace 

A nymph, a Naiad, or a Grace, 

Of finer form, or lovelier face! 

What though the sun, with ardent frown, 

Had slightly tinged her cheek with brown, 

The sportive toil, which, short and light, 

Had dyed her glowing hue so bright, 

Served too in hastier swell to show 

Short glimpses of a breast of snow; 

What though no rule of courtly grace 

To measured mood had trained her pace, 

A foot more light, a step more true, 

Ne'er from the heath-flower dashed the dew; 

E'en the slight hare-bell raised its head, 

Elastic from her airy tread : 

What though upon her speech there hung 

The accents of the mountain tongue, 

Those silver sounds, so soft, so dear, 

The listener held his breath to hear. 

A chieftain's daughter seemed the maid; 

Her satin snood, her silken plaid, 

Her golden brooch such birth betrayed; 

And seldom was a snood amid 

Such wild luxuriant ringlets hid, 

Whose glossy black to shame might bring 

The plumage of the raven's wing ; 

And seldom o'er a breast so fair 

Mantled a plaid with modest care; 

And never brooch the folds combined 

Above a heart more good and kind; 

Her kindness and her worth to spy, 

You need but gaze on Ellen's eye ; 

Not Katrine in her mirror blue, 

Gives back the shaggy banks more true, 

Than every free-born glance confessed 

The guileless movements of her breast; 

Whether joy danced in her dark eye, 

Or wo or pity claimed a sigh, 

Or filial love was glowing there, 

Or meek devotion poured a prayer, 

Or tale of injury called forth, 

The indignant spirit of the north, 

One only passion unrevealed, 

With maiden pride the maid concealed, 



POETIC PIECES. 243 

Yet not less purely felt the flame; — 
O need I tell that passion's name ! 

Impatient of the silent horn, 

Now on the gale her voice was borne:— 

*< Father Y 9 she cried; the rocks around 

Loved to prolong the gentle sound. 

A while she paused, no answer came,— 

" Malcolm, was thine the blast V 9 the naxK 

Less resolutely uttered fell, 

The echoes could not catch the swell. 

11 A stranger, I," the huntsman said, 

Advancing from the hazel shade. 

The maid alarmed, with hasty oar, 

Pushed her light shallop from the shore; 

And when a space was gained between, 

Closer she drew her bosom's screen ; 

So forth the startled Swan would swing. 

So turn to prune her ruffled wing; 

Then safe, though fluttered and amazed, 

She paused, and on the stranger gazed: 

Not his the form, nor his the eye, 

That youthful maidens wont to fly. 

On his bold visage, middle age 

Had slightly pressed its signet sage, 

Yet had not quenched the open truth, 

And fiery vehemence *f youth; 

Forward and frolic glee was there, 

The will to do, the soul to dare, 

The sparkling glance, soon blown to fire J 

Of hasty love, or headlong ire. 

His limbs were cast in manly mould, 

For hardy sports, or contest bold; 

And though in peaceful garb arrayed, 

And weaponless, except his blade 

His stately mien as well implied 

A high-born heart, a martial pride, 

As if a Baron's crest he wore, 

And sheathed in armor trod the shore. 

Slighting the petty need he showed, 

He told of his benighted road; 

His ready speech flowed fair and free, 

In phrase of gentlest courtesy, 

Yet seemed that tone, and gesture bland, 

Less used to sue than to command. 

A while the maid the stranger eyed, 
And, reassured, at last replied, 
That highland halls were open still 
To wildered wanderers of the hill* 



244 



POETIC PIECES. 

* Nor think you unexpected come 
To yon lone isle, our desert home: 
Before the heath had lost the dew, 
This morn a couch was pulled for you; 
On yonder mountain's purple head 
Have ptarmigan and heath-cock bled, 
And our broad nets have swept the mere 
To furnish forth your evening cheer.' 
" Now by the rood, my lovely maid, 
Your courtesy has erred," he said; 
" No right have I to claim, misplaced, 
The welcome of expected guest, 
A wanderer here, by fortune tost, 
My way, my friends, my courser lost, 
I ne'er before, believe me, fair, 
Have ever drawn your mountain air, 
'Till on this lake's romantic strand, 
I found a fay in fairy land." 

ci I well believe," the maid replied, 

As her light skiff approached the side, 

il I well believe, that ne'er before 

Your foot has trod Loch-Katrine's store; 

But yet, as far as yesternight. 

Old Allan-bane foretold your plight. — 

A gray-haired sire, whose eye intent 

"Was on the visioned future bent. 

He saw your steeQ, a dappled gray, 

Lie dead beneath the birchen way; 

Painted exact your form and mien, 

Your hunting suit of Lincoln green, 

That tassel'd horn so gaily gilt, 

That falchion's crooked blade and hilt, 

That cap with heron's plumage trim, 

And yon two hounds so dark and grim, 

He bade that all should ready be, 

To grace a guest of fair degree; 

But light I held his prophecy, 

And deemed it was my father's horn, 

Whose eehoes o'er the lake were borne." 

The stranger smiled — c Since to your home, 

A destined errant knight I come, 

Announced by prophet sooth and old, 

Doomed, doubtless, for achievement bold, 

I'll lightly front each high emprize, 

For one kind glance of those bright eyes; 

Permit me, first, the task to guide 

Your fairy frigate o'er the tide.' 

The maid with smile suppressed and sly, 

The toil unwonted saw him try; 



POETIC PIECES. 245 

For seldom, sure, if ere before, 

His noble hand had grasped an oar: 

Yet with main strength his strokes he drew, 

And o'er the lake the shallop flew; 

With heads erect, and whimpering cry, 

The hounds behind their passage ply, 

Nor frequent does the bright oar break 

The darkening mirror of the lake, 

Until the rocky isle they reach, 

And moor their shallop on the beach. 

The stranger viewed the shore around; 

'Twas all so close with copse-wood bound, 

Nor track nor path- way might declare 

That human foot frequented there, 

Until the mountain-maiden showed 

A clambering unsuspected road, 

That winded through the tangled screen, 

And opened on a narrow green, 

"Where weeping birch and willow round 

With their long fibres swept the ground; 

Here, for retreat in dangerous hour, 

Some chief had framed a rustic bower. 



It was a lodge of ample size, 

But strange of structure and device; 

Of such materials as around 

The workman's hand had readiest found. 

Lopped of their boughs, their hoar trunks bared, 

And by the hatchet rudely squared, 

To give the walls their destined height, 

The sturdy oak and ash unite; 

While moss and clay and leaves combined 

To fence each crevice from the wind. 

The lighter pine-trees over-head, 

Their slender length for rafters spread; 

And withered heath and rushes dry 

Supplied a russet canopy. 

Due westward, fronting to the green 

A rural portico was seen, 

Aloft on native pillars borne, 

Of mountain fir with bark unshorn, 

Where Ellen's hand had taught to twine 

The ivy and Idaean vine, 

The clematis, the favored flower, 

Which boasts the name of virgin-bower; 

And every hardy plant could bear 

Loch-Katrine's keen and searching air. 

An instant in this porch she staid, 

And gaily to the stranger said, 



21« 



t4& POETIC PIECES* 

•* On heaven and on thy lady call, 
And enter the enchanted hall." 

u My hope, my heaven, my trust must be, 
My gentle guide, in following thee." 



Qtf ARREL BETWEEN RODERICK DHU AND 
FITZ-JAMES. 

The shades of eve come slowly down, 

The woods are wrapp'd in deeper brown, 

The owl awakens from her dell, 

The fox is heard upon the fell; 

Enough remains of glimmering' light 

To guide the wanderer's steps aright, 

Yet not enough from far to show 

His figure to the watchful foe. 

With cautious step, and ear awake^ 

He climbs the crag and threads the brake; 

And not the summer solstice there, 

Temper'd the midnight mountain air, 

But every breeze, that swept the wolif, 

Benumbed his drenched limbs with cold. 

In dread, in danger, and alone, 

Famished and chilled, through ways unkstown; 

Tangled and steep, he journeyed on; 

Till, as a rock's huge point he turned, 

A watch-fire close before him burned. 

Beside its embers red and clear, 

Basked, in his plaid, a mountaineer; 

And up he sprung with sword in hand,—- 

cC Thy name and purpose ! Saxon,, stand !" — 

"A stranger." — ''What dost thou require?"—* 

(e Rest and a guide, and food and fire* 

My life's beset, my path is lost, 

The gale has chilled my limbs with frost-" 

« Art thou a friend to Roderick?" — "No." 

"Thou darest not call thyself a foe?" — 

(< I dare ! to him and all the band 

He brings to aid his murderous hand."— 

"Bold words! — but, though the beast of game 

The privilege of chase may claim, 

Though space and law the stag we lend, 

Ere hound we slip, or bow we bend, 

Who ever reck'd, where, how, or when, 

The prowling fox was trapp'd or slain? 



POETIC PIECES. 

Thus treacherous scouts, — yet sure they lie, 

Who say thou earnest a secret spy !" 

"They do, by heaven ' — Come Roderick Dhu, 

And of his clan the boldest two, 

And let me but till morning rest, 

I write the falsehood on their crest." — 

"If by the blaze I mark aright, 

Thou bea'rst the belt and spur of Knight." 

<* Then, by these tokens may'st thou know, 

Each proud oppressor's mortal foe." — 

" Enough, enough ; sit down and share 

A soldier's couch, a soldier's fare." 

He gave him of his highland cheer, 

The harden'd flesh of mountain deer 

Dry fuel on the fire he laid, 

And bade the Saxon share his plaid 

He tended him like welcome guest, 

Then thus his further speech addressed, 

" Stranger, I am to Roderick Dhu, 

A clansman born, a kinsman true; 

Each word against his honor spoke 

Demands of me avenging stroke ; 

Yet more, — upon thy fate, 'tis said 

A mighty augury is laid. 

It rests with me to wind my horn, — 

Thou art with numbers overborne; 

It rests with me, here, brand to brand, 

Worn as thou art, to bid thee stand; 

But, nor for clan, nor kindred's cause, 

Will I depart from honor's laws: 

To assail a wearied man were shame, 

And stranger is a holy name ; 

Guidance and rest, and food and fire, 

In vain he never must requires 

Then rest thee here till dawn of day, 

Myself will guide thee on the way, 

O'er stock and stone, through watch and ward, 

Till past Clan-Alpine's outmost guard, 

As far as Coilantogle's ford; 

From thence thy warrant is thy sword." — 

" I take thy courtesy, by Heaven, 

As freely as 'tis nobly given !" — 

"Well, rest thee;, for the bittern's cry 

Sings us the lake's wild lullaby." — 

With that he shook the gathered heath, 

And spread his plaid upon the wreath ; 

And the brave foemen, side by side, 

Lay peaceful down like brothers tried, 

And slept until the dawning beam 

Purpled the mountain and the stream. 



94* 



PjW POETIC PIECES. 

Fair as the earliest beam of eastern light, 
When first, by the bewilder'd pilgrim spied, 
It smiles upon the dreary brow of night, 
And silvers o'er the torrent's foaming tide, 
And lights the fearful path on mountain side, 
Fair as that beam, although the fairest far, 
Giving to horror grace, to danger pride, 
Shine martial Faith, and Courtesy's bright star, 
Through all the wreckful storms that cloud the brow 
of War. 

That early beam, so fair and sheen, 
Was twinkling through the hazel screen, 
When, rousing at its glimmer red, 
The warriors left their lowly bed, 
Looked out upon the dappled sky, 
Muttered their soldier matins by, 
And then awaked their fire, to steal, 
As short and rude, their soldier meal. 
That o'er, the Gael* around him threw 
His graceful plaid of varied hue, 
And, true to promise, led the way, 
By thicket green and mountain gray. 
A wildering path ! — they winded now 
Along the precipice's brow, 
Commanding the rich scenes beneath, 
The windings of the Forth and Teith, 
And all the vales between that lie, 
Till Stirling's turrets melt in sky ; 
Then, sunk in copse, their farthest glance 
Gained not the length of horseman's lance; 
'Twas oft so steep, the foot was fain 
Assistance from the hand to gain : 
So tangled oft, that bursting through, 
Each hawthorn shed her showers of dew,— . 
That diamond dew, so pure and clear, 
It rivals all but Beauty's tear ! 

At length they came where, stern and steep, 
The hill sinks down upon the deep ; 
Here Vennachar in silver flows, 
There, ridge on ridge, Benledi rose. 
Ever the hollow path twined on, 
Beneath steep bank and threatening stone; 
An hundred men might hold the post 
With hardihood against a host. 

* The Scottish Highlander calls himself Gael, or Gaul, and terms th» 
Lew lander, Sassenach t or Saxon. 



POETIC PIECES, 249 

The rugged mountain's scanty cloak 

Was dwarfish shrubs of birch and oak, 

With shingles bare, and cliffs between, 

And patches bright of bracken green, 

And heather black, that waved so high, 

It held the copse in rivalry; 

But where the lake slept deep and still, 

Dank osiers fringed the swamp and hill •, 

And oft both path and hill were torn, 

Where wintry torrent down had borne, 

And heaped upon the cumber'd land 

Its wreck of gravel, rocks, and sand; 

So toilsome was the road to trace, 

The guide, abating of his pace, 

Led slowly through the pass's jaws, 

And asked Fitz-James, by what strange cause 

He sought these wilds ; traversed by few, 

Without a pass from Roderick Dim ? 

" Brave Gael, my pass, in danger tried, 
Hangs in my belt, and by my side; 
Yet, sooth to tell," the Saxon said, 
" I dreamed not now to claim its aid; 
When here, but three days' since, I came, 
Bewilder'd in pursuit of game, 
All seemed as peaceful and as still, 
As the mist slumbering on yon hill ; 
Thy dangerous chief was then afar, 
Nor soon expected back from war; 
Thus said, at least, my mountain guide, 
Though deep, perchance the villain lied," 
" Yet why a second venture try ?" 
" A warrior thou, and ask me why ! — 
Moves our free course by such fixed cause, 
As gives the poor mechanic laws ? 
Enough I sought to drive away 
The lazy, hours of peaceful day; 
Slight cause will then suffice to guide 
A knight's free footsteps far and wide ; 
A falcon flown, a grayhound strayed, 
The merry glance of mountain maid: 
Or, if a path be dangerous known, 
The danger's self is lure alone." — 

* Thy secret keep, I urge thee not ;— 
Yet, ere again ye sought this spot, 
Say, heard ye nought of lowland war, 
Against Clan-Alpin raised by Mar ?"— 



250 POETIC PIECES. 

" — No, by my word ; — of bands prepared 
To guard King James's sports I heard ; 
Nor doubt I aught, but when they heal 
This muster of the mountaineer, 
Their pennons will abroad be flung, 
Which else in Doune had peaceful hung." 
«« Free be they flung ! — for we were loth 
Their silken folds should feast the moth. 
Free be they flung ! — as free shall wave 
Clan-Alpine's pine in banner brave. 
But, stranger, peaceful since you came 
fiewilder'd in the mountain game, 
Whence the bold boast by which you show 
Vich- Alpine's vow'd and mortal foe ?" — 
" Warrior, but yester-morn, I knew 
Nought of thy Chieftain, Roderick Dhu, 
Save as an exiled desperate man, 
The chief of a rebellious clan, 
Who, in the Regent's court and sight, 
With ruffian dagger stabbed a knight. 
Yet this alone might from his part 
Sever each true and loyal heart." — 

Wrathful at such arraignment foul, 
Dark lowerM the clansman's sable scowl : 
A space he paused, then sternly said, — 
** And heardst thou why he drew his blade T 
Heardst thou that shameful word and blow 
Brought Roderick's vengeance on his foe ? 
What reck'd the Chieftain, if he stood 
On highland heath, or Holy-Rood ? 
He rights such wrong where it is given, 
If it were in the court of heaven." — 
u Still was it outrage ; — yet, 'tis true, 
Not then claimed sovereignty his due ; 
While Albany, with feeble hand, 
Held borrowed truncheon of command, 
The young King, mew'd in Stirling tower, 
Was stranger to respect and power. 
But then, thy Chieftain's robber life ! — 
Winning mean prey by causeless strife, 
Wrenching from ruin'd lowland swain 
His herds and harvest reared in vain.— 
Methinks a soul, like thine, should scorn 
The spoils from such foul foray borne." 
The Gael beheld him grim the while, 
And answer'd with disdainful smile,— 
" Saxon, from yonder mountain high, 
I marked thee send delighted eye 



POETIC PIECES. 251 



Far to the south and east, where lay, 
Extended in succession gay, 
Deep waving fields and pastures green, 
With gentle slopes and groves between. 
These fertile plains, that softened vale, 
Were once the birthright of the Gael ; 
The stranger came with iron hand, 
And from our fathers reft the land. 
Where dwell we now ! See rudely swell 
Crag over crag, and fell o'er fell. 
Ask we this savage hill we tread, 
For fatten'd steer or household bread ; 
Ask we for flocks these shingles dry, 
And well the mountain might reply, — 
"To you, as to your sires of yore, 
Belong the target and claymore ! 
I give you shelter in my breast, 
Your own good blades must win the rest.* 
Pent in this fortress of the North, 
Think'st thou we will not sally forth, 
To spoil the spoiler as we may, 
And from the robber rend the prey ? 
Ay, by my soul ! — While on yon plain 
The Saxon rears one shock of grain ; 
While, often thousand herds, then -fray 8 
But one along yon river's maze, — 
The Gael, of plain and river heir, 
Shall with strong hand, redeem his share. 
Where live the mountain chiefs who hold, 
That plundering lowland field and fold 
Is aught but retribution due ? 
Seek other cause 'gainst Roderick Dhu." 

Answered Fitz- James, — " And, if I sought 
Think'st thou no other could be brought ? 
What deem ye of my path waylaid, 
My life given o'er to ambuscade ?" 
" As of a meed to rashness due : 
Hadst thou sent warning fair and true, — 
I seek my hound, or falcon strayed, 
I seek, good faith, a highland maid, — 
Free hadst thou been to come and go- 
But secret path marks secret foe. 
Nor yet, for this, even as a spy, 
Hadst thou unheard, been doom'd to die 
Save to fulfil an augury."— 
" Well, let it pass ; nor will I now 
Fresh cause of enmity avow, 
To chafe thy mood and cloud thy brow. 



POETIC PIECES. 

Enough, I am by promise tied 

To match me with this man of pride: 

Twice have I sought Clan-Alpine's glen 

In peace ; but, when I come again, 

I come with banner, brand, and bow, 

As leader seeks his mortal foe; 

For lovelorn swain, in lady's bower, 

Ne'er panted for the appointed hour, 

As I, until before me stand 

This rebel Chieftain and his band."-— 



" Have then thy wish !" he whistled shrill, 

And he was answer'd from the hill ; 

Wild as the scream of the curlew, 

From crag to crag the signal flew; 

Instant, through copse and heath, arose 

Bonnets and spears and bended bows; 

On right, on left, above, below, 

Sprung up at once the lurking foe ; 

From shingles gray their lances start, 

The bracken-bush sends forth the dart, 

The rushes and the willow-wand 

Are bristling into axe and brand, 

And eveiy tuft of broom gives life 

To plaided warrior arm'd for strife. 

That whistle garrison'd the glen 

At once with full five hundred men, 

As if the yawning hill to heaven 

A subterranean host had given; 

Watching their leader's beck and will, 

All silent there they stood, and still ; 

Like the loose crags, whose threat'ning mass 

Lay tottering o'er the hollow pass, 

As if an infant's touch could urge 

Their headlong passage down the verge, 

With step and weapon forward flung, 

Upon the mountain-side they hung. 

The mountaineer cast glance of pride 

Along Benledi's living side, 

Then fixed his eye and sable brow 

Full on Fitz-James — il How say'st thou now! 

These are Clan-Alpine's warriors true; 

And, Saxon, — I am Roderick Dhu I" 

Fitz-James was brave : — Though to^'q heart 
The life-blood thrilled with sudden ^art, 
He mann'd himself with da ntless air, 
Keturn'd the chief his haughty stare, 



POETIC PIECES. 253 

His back against a rock he bore, 

And firmly placed his foot before : 

" Come one, come all ! this rock shall fly 

From its firm base as soon as I."— 

Sir Roderick marked — and in his eyes 

Respect was mingled with surprise, 

And the stem joy which warriors feel 

In foeman worthy of their steel. 

Short space he stood — then waved his hand 

Down sunk the disappearing band ; 

Each warrior vanished where he stood, 

In broom or bracken, heath or wood ; 

Sunk brand and spear and bended bow y 

In osiers pale and copses low ; 

It seem'd as if their mother Earth 

Had swallowed up her warlike birth, 

The wind's last breath had toss'd in air, 

Pennon, and plaid, and plumage fair, — 

The next but swept a lone hill-side, 

Where heath and fern were waving wide ; 

The sun's last glance was glinted back, 

From lance and glaive, from targe and jack,— 

The next, all unreflected, shone 

On bracken green, and cold gray stone. 

Fitz James looked round — yet scarce believed 

The witness that his sight received ; 

Such apparition well might seem 

Delusion of a dreadful dream. 

Sir Roderick in suspense he eyed, 

And to his look the chief replied, 

" Fear nought — nay, that I need not say- - 

But— doubt not aught from mine array. 

Thou art my guest ; I pledg'd my word 

As far as Coilantogle ford : 

Nor would I call a clansman's brand 

For aid against one valiant hand, 

Though on our strife lay every vale 

Rent by the Saxon from the Gael. 

So move we on ; I only meant 

To show the reed on which you leant, 

Deeming this path you might pursue 

Without a pass from Roderick Dhu." 

They moved — I said Fitz-James was brave 

As ever knight that belted glaive ; 

Yet dare not say, that now his blood 

Kept on its wont and temper'd flood, 

As, following Roderick's strides, he drew 

That seeming lonesome nath way through, 

22 



254 POETIC PIECES 

Which yet, by fearful proof, was rife 
With lances, that to take his life 
Waited but signal from a guide, 
So late dishonored and defied. 
Ever, by stealth, his eye sought round 
The vanish'd guardians of the ground, 
And still from copse and heather deep, 
Fancy saw spear and broadsword peep, 
And in the plover's shrilly strain, 
The signal whistle heard again. 
Nor breathed he free till far behind 
The pass was left ; for then they wind 
Along a wide and level green, 
Where neither tree nor tuft was seen, 
Nor rush, nor bush of broom was near, 
To hide a bonnet or a spear. 

The chief in silence strode before, 

And reach'd that torrent's sounding shore 

Which, daughter of three mighty lakes, 

From Vennachar in silver breaks, 

Sweeps through the plain, and ceaseless mines 

On Bochastle the mouldering lines/ 

Where Rome, the Empress of the world, 

Of yore her eagle wings unfurl'd 

And here his course the Chieftain staid. 

Threw down his target and his plaid, 

And to the lowland warrior said : — 

" Bold Saxon ! to his promise just, 

Vich.Alpine has discharged his trust 

This murderous chief, this ruthless man, 

This head of a rebellious clan, 

Hath led thee safe, through watch and ward, 

Far past Clan-Alpine's outmost guard 

Now, man to man, and steel to steel, 

A chieftain's vengeance thou shalt feel 

See, here all vantageless I stand, 

Armed, like thyself with single brand ; 

For this is Coilantogle ford, 

And thou must keep thee with thy sword. 

The Saxon paused : — « 4 I ne'er delayed, 
When foeman bade me draw my blade ; 
Nay more, brave Chief, I vow'd thy death : 
Yet sure thy fair and generous faith, 
And my deep debt for life preserved, 
A better meed have well deserv'd : 
Can nought but blood our feud atone ? 
Are there no means ?" " No, Stranger, none! 



POETIC PIECES. 255 

And hear, — to fire thy flagging zeal,— 
The Saxon cause rests on thy steel ; 
For thus spoke Fate by prophet bred 
Between the living and the dead ; 
44 Who spills the foremost foeman's life, 
His party conquers in the strife." — 
44 Then by my word," the Saxon said, 
44 The riddle is already read 
See yonder brake beneath the cliff,— 
There lies Red Murdoch, stark and stiff 
Thus Fate hath solved her prophecy, 
Then yield to Fate, and not to me, 
To James, at Stirling, let us go, 
When if thou wilt be still his foe, 
Or if the King shall not agree 
To grant thee grace and favor free, 
I plight mine honor, oath and word, 
That, to thy native strength restored, 
With each advantage shalt thou stand, 
That aids thee now to guard thy land."— 

Dark lightning flashed from Roderick's eye-* 
14 Soars thy presumption, then, so high, 
Because a wretched kern ye slew, 
Homage to name to Roderick Dhu ! 
He yields not, he, to man nor Fate ! 
Thou add'st but fuel to my hate . — 
My clansman's blood demands revenge.— 
Not yet prepared ? — By heaven, I change 
My thought, and hold thy valor light 
As that of some vain carpet knight, 
Who ill deserved my courteous care, 
And whose best boast is but to wear 
A braid of his fair lady's hair." — 
— 44 1 thank thee, Roderick, for the word ! 
It nerves my heart, it steels my sword ; 
For I have sworn this braid to stain 
In the best blood that warms thy vein. 
Now, truce, farewell ! and ruth, begone !•— 
Yet think not that by thee alone, 
Proud Chief ! can courtesy be shown ; 
Though not from copse, or heath, or cairn 
Start at my whistle clansmen stern, 
Of this small horn one feeble blast 
Would fearful odds against thee cast 
But fear not — doubt not — which thou wilt, 
We try this quarrel hilt to hilt."— 
Then each at once his falchion drew, 
Each on the ground his scabbard threw, 



258 POETIC PIECES. 

Each look'd to sun, and stream, and plain, 
As what they ne'er might see again ; 
Then, foot, and point, and eye opposed. 
In dubious strife they darkly closed. 

Ill fared it then with Roderick Dhu, 

That on the field his targe he threw, 
Whose brazen studs and tough bull-hide 
Had death so often dash'd aside ; 

For, train'd abroad his arms to wield, 
Fitz-James's blade was sword and shield. 

He practised every pass and ward, 
To thrust, to strike, to feint, to guard ; 
While less expert, though stronger far, 
The Gael maintain'd unequal war 
Three times in closing strife they stood, 
And thrice the Saxon sword drank blood ; 
No stinted draught, no scanty tide, 
The gushing flood the tartans dyed 
Fierce Roderick felt the fatal drain, 
And shower'd his blows like wintry rain ; 
And, as firm rock, or castle-roof, 
A.gainst the winter shower is proof, 
The foe invulnerable still 
Foiled his wild rage by steady skill ; 
Till at advantage ta'en, his brand 
Forced Roderick's weapon from his hand, 
And, backwards borne upon the lee, 
Brought the proud Chieftain to his knee. 

'* Now yield thee, or, by Him who made 
The world, thy heart's blood dies my blade 1" 
" Thy threats, thy mercy, I defy ! 
Let recreant yield who fears to die.**— 
Like adder darting from his coil, 
Like wolf that dashes through the toil, 
Like mountain-cat who guards her young, 
Full at Fitz-Jamcs's throat he sprung, 
Received, but reck'd not of a wound, 
And locked his arms his foeman round.— 
Now, gallant Saxon, hold thine own ! 
No maiden's hand is round thee thrown ! 
That desperate grasp thy frame might feel, 
Through bars of brass and triple steel ! 
They tug, they strain ; — down, down they go. 
The Gael above, Fitz-James below. 
The Chieftain's gripe his throat compress'd, 
His knee was planted in his breast ; 
His clotted locks he backward threw 
Across his brow his hand he drew, 



POETIC PIECES. 257 

From blood and mist to clear his sight, 
Then gleam'd aloft his dagger bright I 
But hate and fury ill supplied 
The stream of life's exhausted tide, 
And all too late the advantage came, 
To turn the odds of deadly game ; 
For, while the dagger gleam'd on high, 
Reel'd soul and sense, reel'd brain and eye 
Down came the blow ! but in the heath 
The erring blade found bloodless sheath. 
The struggling foe may now unclasp 
The fainting Chief's relaxing grasp ; 
Unwounded from the dreadful close, 
But breathless all, Fitz James arose. 

He falter'd thanks to Heaves for life 
Redeem'd, unhoped, from desperate strife ; 
Next on his foe his look he cast, 
Whose every gasp appeared his last ; 
In Roderick's gore he dipp'd the braid.— 
" Poor Blanche ! thy wrongs are dearly paid ( 
Yet with thy foe must die or live, 
The praise that Faith and Valor give.* 



22* 



268 FGETIC PIECES. 

WINTER IN COPENHAGEN. 

Ere yet the clouds let fall the treasured snow, 

Or winds began through hazy skies to blow, 

At evening a keen eastern breeze arose, 

And the descending rain unsullied froze. 

Soon as the silent shades of night withdrew, 

The ruddy morn disclos'd at once to view 

The face of nature in a rich disguise ; 

And heightened every object to my eyes : 

For every shrub and every blade of grass, 

And every pointed thorn, seemed wrought in glass; 

In pearls and rubies rich the hawthorns show, 

While through the ice the crimson berries glow. 

The thick sprung reeds, the wat'ry marshes yield, 

Seem polish'd lances in a hostile field, 

The stag, in limpid currents, with surprise, 

Sees chrystal branches on his forehead rise : 

The spreading oak, the beech, the towering pine, 

Glaz'd over, in the freezing aether shine. 

The frighted birds the rattling branches shun, 

Which wave and glitter in the distant sun. 

When if a sudden gust of wind arise, 

The brittle forest into atoms flies, 

The crackling wood beneath the tempest bends 

And in a spangled shower the prospect ends. 



THE SACKING OF PRAGUE. 

Oh ! sacred Truth ! thy triumph ceas'd awhile, 
And Hope, thy sister, ceas'd with thee to smile, 
When leagu'd oppression pour'd to Northern wars 
Her whisker'd pandoors and her fierce huzzars, 
Wav'd her dread standard to the breeze of morn, 
Peal'd her loud drum, and twang'd her trumpet horn; 
Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van, 
Presaging wrath to Poland — and to man ! 

Warsaw's last champion from her height survey'd. 
Wide o'er the fields a waste of ruin laid, — 
Oh! Heav'n he cried, my bleeding country save! 
Is there no hand on high to shield the brave? 
Yet, though destruction sweep these lovely plains, 
Rise, fellow-men! our country yet remains! 
By that dread name, we wave the sword on high, 
And swear for her to live! — with her to die! 

He said, and on the rampart heights array'd 
His truaty warriors, few but undismayed; 



POETIC PIECES. 259 

Firm-paced, and slow, a horrid front they form, 
Stiil as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm; 
Low, murmuring sounds along their banners fly, 
Revenge, or death, — the watchword and reply; 
Then peal-d the notes, omnipotent to charm, 
And the loud tocsin toll'd their last alarm ! — 



In vain, alas! in vain, ye gallant few! 
From rank to rank your volleyed thunder flew:— 
Oh bloodiest picture in the Book of Time, 
Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime: 
Found not a gen'rous friend, a pitying foe, 
Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe! 
Dropp'd from her nerveless grasp the shatter'd spear, 
Clos'd her bright eye, and curb'd her high career; 
Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell: 
And Freedom shrieked — as Kosciusko fell ! 

The sun went down, nor ceas'd the carnage there, 
Tumultuous murder shook the midnight air — 
On Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin glow, 
His blood-dy-d waters murmuring far below; 
The storm prevails, the rampart yields away, 
Bursts the wild cry of horror and dismay! 
Hark! as the smouldering piles with thunder fall, 
A thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy call ! 
Earth shook — red meteors flash'd along the sky, 
And conscious Nature shudder'd at the cry ! 

Oh! Righteous Heaven! ere Freedom found a grave, 

Why slept the sword Omnipotent, to save? 

Where was thine arm, O Vengeance ! where thy rod, 

That smote the foes of Zion and of God, 

That crush'd proud Ammon, when his iron car 

Was yok'd in wrath, and thunder'd from afar ? 

Where was the storm that slumber'd till the host 

Of blood-stain'd Pharaoh left their trembling coast; 

Then bade the deep in wild commotion flow, 

And heav'd an ocean on their march below ! 



Departed spirits of the mighty dead! 
Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled ! 
Friends of the world ! restore your swords to man, 
Fight in his sacred cause, and lead the van! 
Yet for Sarmatia' s tears of blood atone, 
And make her arm puissant as your own ! 
Oh ! once again to Freedom's cause return 
The Patriot Tell—the Bruce of Bannockburn ! 



260 POETIC PIECES. 

Yes ! thy proud lords, unpitied land ! shall see 
That man hath yet a soul — and dare be free ! 
A little while, along thy sad'ning plains, 
The star less night of desolation reigns; 
Truth shall restore the light by Nature giv'n, 
And, like Prometheus, bring the fire of Heav'n! 
Prone to the dust Oppression shall be hurl'd, — 
Her name, her nature, withered from the world! 



THE PILOT. 
Angel of life ! thy glittering wings explore 
Earth's loneliest bounds, and Ocean's wildest shore* 
Lo! to the wintry winds the pilot yields 
His bark, careering o'er unfathom'd fields; 
Now on Atlantic waves he rides afar, 
Where Andes, giant of the western star, 
With meteor standard to the winds unfurPd, 
Looks from his throne of clouds o'er half the world* 

Now far he sweeps, where scarce a summer smiles 
On Behring's rocks, or Greenland's naked isles; 
Cold on his midnight watch the breezes blow, 
From wastes that slumber in eternal snow; 
And waft, across the waves' tumultuous roar, 
The wolf's long howl from Oonalaska's shose. 

Poor child of danger, nursling of the storm, 
Sad are the woes that wreck thy manly form! 
Rocks, waves, and winds, the shatter 'd bark delay; 
Thy heart is sad, thy home is far away. 

But Hope can here her moonlight vigils keep, 
And sing to charm the spirit of the deep. 
Swift as yon streamer lights the starry pole, 
Her visions warm the watchman's pensive soul! 
His native hills that rise in happier climes, 
The grot that heard his song of other times, 
His cottage-home, his bark of slender sail, 
His glassy lake, and broom wood-blossom'd vale, 
Rush on his thought; he sweeps before the wind, 
Treads the lov'd shore he sigh'd to leave behind; 
Meets at each step a friend's familiar face, 
And flies at last to Helen's long embrace ; 
Wipes from her cheek the rapture speaking tear, 
And clasps, with many a sigh, his children dear! 
While, long neglected, but at length caress'd 
His faithful dog salutes the smiling guest, 



POETIC PIECES. 261 

Points to the master's eyes, where'er they roam, 
His wistful face, and whines a welcome home. 



ON WOMAN. 



In joyous youth, what soul hath never known 
Thought, feeling", taste, harmonious to its own? 
Who hath not paus'd, while beauty's pensive eye 
Ask'd from his heart the homage of a sigh? 
Who hath not own'd, with rapture-smitten frame, 
The power of grace, the magic of a name? 

There be, perhaps, who barren hearts avow, 
Cold as the rocks on Torneo's hoary brow; 
There be, whose loveless wisdom never fail'd, 
In self-adoring pride securely mail'd; — 
But, triumph not, ye peace-enamor'd few! 
Fire, Nature, Genius, never dwelt with you! 
For you no fancy consecrates the scene 
Where rapture utter'd vows, and wept between; 
*Tis yours, unmov'd, to sever and to meet; 
No pledge is sacred, and no home is sweet! 

Who that would ask a heart to dulness wed 
The waveless calm, the slumber of the dead? 
No; the wild bliss of Nature needs alloy, 
And fear and sorrow fan the fire of joy ! 
And say, without our hopes, without our fears^ 
Without the home that plighted love endears, 
Without the smile from partial beauty won, 
O! what were man? — a world without a sun! 

Till Hymen brought his love-delighted hour, 
There dwelt no joy in Eden's rosy bow'r! 
In vain the viewless seraph ling'ring there, 
At starry midnight charm -d the silent air; 
In vain the wild-bird carol'd on the steep, 
To hail the sun, slow-wheeling from the deep ; 
In vain, to soothe the solitary shade, 
Aerial notes in mingling measure play'd; 
The summer wind that shook the spangled tree, 
The whispering wave, the murmur of the bee;— 
Still slowly pass'd the melancholy day, 
And still the stranger wist not where to stray, — 
The world was sad ! — the garden was a wild ! 
And man, the hermit, sigh'd — till Woman smil'd. 



262 POETIC PIECES. 



THE SCEPTIC. 

Oh ! lives there, Heav'n ! beneath thy dread expanse, 
One hopeless, dark Idolater of Chance, 
Content to feed, with pleasures unrefin'd, 
The lukewarm passions of a lowly mind; 
Who, mould'ring earthward, reft of every trust, 
In joyless union wedded to the dust, 
Could all his parting energy dismiss, 
And call this barren world sufficient bliss? — 
There live, alas! of Heav'n-directed mien, 
Of cultur'd soul, and sapient eye serene, 
Who hail thee, Man ! the pilgrim of a day, 
Spouse of the worm, and brother of the clay! 
Frail as the leaf in Autumn's yellow bower, 
Dust in the wind, or dew upon the flower! 
A friendless slave, a child without a sire, 
Whose mortal life, and momentary fire, 
Lights to the grave his chance-created form, 
As ocean -wrecks illuminate the storm; 
And, when the gun's tremendous flash is o'er, 
To Night and silence sink for ever more !- — 

Are these the pompous tidings ye proclaim, 
Lights of the world, and demi-gods of Fame? 
Is this your triumph — this your proud applause, 
Children of Truth, and champions of her cause? 
For this hath Science search'd, on weary wing, 
By shore and sea — each mute and living thing? 
Launch'd with Iberia's pilot from the steep, 
To worlds unknown, and isles beyond the deep? 
Or round the cope her living chariot driv'n, 
And wheel'd in triumph through the signs of Heat^m* 
Oh ! star-ey'd Science, hast thou wander'd ther», 
To waft us home the message of despair? 
Then bind the palm, thy sage's brow to suit, 
Of blasted leaf, and death-distilling fruit! 
Ah me ! the laurel'd wreath that murder rears, 
Blood-nurs'd, and water'd by the widow's tears, 
Seems not so foul, so tainted, and so dread, 
As waves the night-shade round the sceptic head. 
What is the bigot's torch, the tyrant's chain? 
I smile on death, if Heav'n-ward Hope remain! 
But, if the warring winds of Nature's strife 
Be all the faithless charter of my life, 
If Chance awak'd, inexorble pow'r! 
This frail and fev'rish being of an hour; 
Doom'd* o'er the worlds precarious scene* to sW&p, 
Swift as the tempest travels on the deep, 



POETIC PIECES. 263 

To know Delight but by her parting" smile, 
And toil, and wish, and weep, a little while; 
Then melt, ye elements, that form'd in vain 
This troubled pulse, and visionary brain! 
Fade, ye wild flowers, memorials of my doom! 
And sink, ye stars, that light me to the tomb ! 
Truth, ever lovely, since the world began, 
The foe of tyrants, and the friend of man, — 
How can thy words from balmy slumber start 
Reposing Virtue, pillow'd on the heart! 
Yet, if thy x^oice the note of thunder roll'd, 
And that were true which Nature never told, 
Let wisdom smile not on her conquer'd field; 
No rapture dawns, no treasure is reveal'd f 
Oh ! let her read, nor loudly, nor elate, 
The doom that bars us from a better fate; 
But, sad as angels for the good man's sin, 
Weep to record, and blush to give it in ! 



Cease every joy to glimmer on my mind, 
But leave — oh! leave the light of Hope behind 
What though my winged hours of bliss have been, 
Like angel-visits, few, and far between ! 
Her musing mood shall every pang appease, 
And charm — when pleasures lose the power to please! 



Eternal hope! when yonder spheres sublime 
Peal'd their first notes to sound the march of time, 
Thy joyous youth began — but not to fade. — 
When all the sister planets have decay'd ; 
When wrapt in fire the realms of ether glow, 
And Heaven's last thunder shakes the world below; 
Thou, undismay'd, shalt o'er the ruins smile, 
Aad light thy torch at Nature's funeral pile I 



THE ROSE OF THE WILDERNESS. 
^.t the silence of twilight's contemplative hour, 

I have mus'd in a sorrowful mood, 
dn the wind-shaken weeds that embosom the bower, 

Where the home of my forefathers stood. 
All ruined and wild is their roofless abode, 

And lonely the dark. raven's sheltering tree; 
And travell'd by few is the grass-cover'd road, 
Where the hunter of deer and the warrior trod* 

To his hills that encircle the sea. 



264 POETIC PIECES. 

Yet wandering, I foum! on my ruinous walk, 

By the dial stone aged and green, 
One rose of the wilderness left on its stalk, 

To mark where a garden had been. 
Like a brotherless hermit, the last of its race, 

All wild in the silence of Nature, it drew, 
From each wandering sun- beam, a lonely embrace, 
For the night-weed and thorn over shadowed the place 

Where the flower of my forefathers grew. 

Sweet bud of the wilderness! emblem of all 

That remains in this desolate heart! 
The fabric of bliss to its centre may fall; 

But patience shall never depart! 
Though the wilds of enchantment, all vernal and bright 

In the days of delusion by fancy combin'd, 
With the vanishing phantoms of love and delight, 
Abandon my soul like a dream of the night, 

And leave but a desert behind. 

Be hush'd, my dark spirit! for wisdom condemns 

When the faint and the feeble deplore; 
Be strong as the rock of the ocean that stems 

A thousand wild waves on the shore! 
Through the perils of chance, and the scowl of disdain, 

May thy front be unaltered, thy courage elate; 
Yea! even the name I have worshipped in vain 
Shall awake not the sigh of remembrance again, 

To bear is to conquer our fate. 



THE LAST MAN. 

All worldly shapes shall melt in gloom, 

The Sun himself must die, 
Before this mortal shall assume 

Its immortality ! 
I saw a vision in my sleep, 
That gave my spirit strength to sweep 

Adown the gulf of time ! 
I saw the last of human mould, 
That shall Creation's death behold, 

As Adam saw her prime! 

The Sun's eye had a sickly glare, 
The Earth with age was wan 

The skeletons of nations were 
Around that lonely man ! 



POETIC PIECES. £&$ 

Some had expired in fight — the brands 
Still rusted in their bony hands; 

In plague and famine some! 
Earth's cities had no sound nor tread, 
And ships were drifting with the dead 

To shores where all was dumb! 

Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood, 

With dauntless words and high, 
That shook the sere leaves from the wood 

As if a storm pass'd by, 
Saying, We are twins in death, proud Sun, 
Thy face is cold, thy race is run, 

'Tis Mercy bids thee go. 
For thou ten thousand thousand years 
Hast seen the tide of human tears, 

That shall no longer flow. 

What though beneath thee man put forth 

His pomp, his pride, his skill; 
And arts that made fire, flood, and earth, 

The vassals of his will; — 
Yet mourn not I thy parted sway, 
Thou dim discrowned king of day: 

For all those trophied arts 
And triumphs that beneath thee sprang, 
Heal'd not a passion or a pang 

Entaild on human hearts. 

Go, let oblivion's curtain fall 

Upon the stage of men, 
Nor with thy rising beams recall 

Life's tragedy again. 
Its piteous pageants bring not back, 
Nor waken flesh upon the rack 

Of pain anew to writhe; 
Stretch'd in disease's shapes abhorr'd, 
Or mown in battle by the sword, 

Like grass beneath the scythe. 

Ev'n I am weary in yon skies 

To watch thy fading fire; 
Test of all sumless agonies, 

Behold not me expire. 
My lips that speak thy dirge of death — 
Their rounded gasp and gugling breath 

To see thou shalt not boast. 
The eclipse of Nature spreads my pall,— 
The majesty of Darkness shall 

Receive my parting ghost . 

23 



266 POETIC PIECES. 

This spirit shall return to Him 

That gave its heavenly spark; 
Yet think not, Sun, it shall be dim 

When thou thyself art dark ! 
No! it shall live again, and shine 
In bliss unknown to beams of thine, 

By Him recall'd to breath, 
Who captive led captivity, 
Who robb'd the grave of Victory, 

And took the sting from Death ! 

Go, Sun, while Mercy holds me up 

On Nature's awful waste, 
To drink this last and bitter cup 

Of grief that man shall taste — 
Go, tell that night that hides thy face, 
Thou saw'st the last of Adam's race, 

On Earth's sepulchral clod, 
The dark'ning universe defy 
To quench his Immortality, 

Or shake his trust in God I 



THE RAINBOW. 

The evening was glorious, an light through the trees 
Play'd in sunshine, the rain-drop the birds, and the breeze) 
The landscape, outstretching, in lo dine lay 
On the lap of the year, in the beauty ot May. 
For the bright queen of spring, as she pass'd down the vale, 
Left her robe on the trees, and her breath on the gale; 
And the smile of her promise gave joy to the hours, 
And fresh in her footsteps sprang herbage and flowers. 
The skies, like a banner in sunset unroll'd, 
O'er the west threw their splendor of azure and gold; 
But one cloud at a distance rose dense, and increas'd, 
'Till its margin of black touch'd the zenith and east. 
We gaz'd on these scenes, while around us they glow'd, 
When a vision of beauty appeared on the cloud; 
'Twas not like the sun, as at mid -day we view, 
Nor the moon, that rolls lightly through star-light and blue, 
Like a spirit it came in the van of a storm, 
And the eye and the heart hailed its beautiful form; 
For.it look'd not severe, like an angel of wrath, 
But its garments of brightness illumed its dark path. 
In the hues of its grandeur sublimely it stood, 
O'er the river, the village, the field, and the wood; 
And river, field, village, and woodland grew bright, 
Is conscious they felt and afforded delight. 



POETIC PIECES. 267 

*Twas the bow of Omnipotence, bent in His hand, 

Whose grasp at creation the universe spann'd; 

'Twas the presence of God, in a symbol sublime, 

His vow from the flood to the exit of time; 

Not dreadful as when in a whirlwind he pleads, 

When storms are his chariot, and lightning his steeds; 

The black cloud of vengeance his banner unfurl'd, 

And thunder his voice to a guilt-stricken world; 

In the breath of his presence, when thousands expire, 

And seas boil with fury, and rocks burn with fire, 

And the sword and the plague-spot with death strew the 

plain, 
And vultures and wolves are the graves of the slain. 
Not such was that rainbow, that beautiful one! 
Whose arch was refraction, its key-stone — the sun; 
A pavillion it scem'd, with a deity graced, 
And justice and mercy met there and embrace.!. 
Awhile, and it sweetly bent over the gloom, 
Like love o'er a death-couch, or hope o'er the tomb; 
Then left the dark scene, whence it slowly retired, 
As love had just vanished, or hope had expired. 
I gazed not alone on that source of my song, 
To all who beheld it these verses belong; 
Its presence to all was the path of the Lord! 
Each full heart expanded, grew warm and adored. 
Like a visit — the converse of friends — or a day, 
That bow from my sight pass'd forever away; 
Like that visit, that converse, that day, to my heart, 
That bow from remembrance can never depart. 
> Tis a picture in memory, distinctly defined, 
With the strong and imperishing colors of mind : 
A part of my being beyond my control, 
Beheld on that cloud; and transcribed on my souk 



THE SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM. 

Morn t breaketh in the East. The purple clouds. 
Are putting on their gold and violet, 
To look the meeter for the sun's bright coming* 
Sleep is upon the waters and the wind; 
And nature, from the weary forest-leaf 
To her majestic master, sleeps. As yet 
There is no mist upon the deep blue sky, 
And the clear dew is on the blushing blossoms 
Of crimson roses in a holy rest. 
How hallowed is the hour of morning ! meet, 
Aye — beautifully meet, for the pure prayer. 
The. patriarch standeth at his tented door, 



S68 POETIC PIECES. 

With his white locks uncovered. >Tis his want 
To gaze upon the gorgeous orient; 
And at that hour the awful majesty 
Of man who talketh often with his God, 
Is wont to come again and clothe his brow 
As at his fourscore strength. But now, he seemet& 
To be forgetful of his vig-rous frame, 
And boweth to his staff as at the hour 
Of noontide sultriness. And that bright sun- 
He looketh at his pencil'd messengers 
Coming in golden raiment, as if all 
Were but a graven scroll of fearfulness. 
Ah, he is waiting till it herald in 
The hour to sacrifice his much lov'd son! 
Light poureth on the world. And Sarah stands. 
Watching the steps of Abraham and her child 
Along the dewy sides of the far hills. 
And praying that her sunny boy faint not — 
Would she have watch'd their path so silently, 
If she had known that he was going up, 
Ev ? n in his fair hair'd beauty, to be slain 
As a white lamb for sacrifice? They trod 
Together onward, patriarch and child — 
The bright sun throwing back the old man's shade 
In straight and fair proportions, as of one 
Whose years were freshly numberd. He stood up 
Even in his vig'rous strength, and like a tree 
Rooted in Lebanon, his frame bent not; 
His thin white hairs had yielded to the wind, 
And left his brow uncovered; and his face, 
Impress'd with the stern majesty of grief, 
Nerved to a solemn duty, now stood forth 
Like a rent rock, submissive, yet sublime. 
But the young boy — he of the laughing eye 
And ruby lip, the pride of life was on him. 
He seemed to drink the morning. Sun and dew, 
And the aroma of the spicy trees, 
And all that giveth the delicious east 
Its fitness for an Eden, stole like light 
Into his spirit, ravishing his thoughts 
With love and beauty. Every thing he met 
Buoyant or beautiful, the lighest wing 
Of bird or insect, or the palest dye 
Of the fresh flowers, won him from his path, 
And joyously broke forth his tiny shout 
As he flung back his silken hair, and sprung 
Away to some green spot, or clust'ring vine, 
To pluck his infant trophies. Every tree 
And fragrant shrub was a new hiding place, 
And he would crouch till the old man came by- 
Then bound before him with his childish laugh 



POETIC PIECES. 269 

Stealing* a look behind him playfully, 

To see if he had made his father smile. 

The sun rode on in heaven. The dew stole up 

From the fresh daughters of the earth, and heat 

Came like a sleep upon the delicate leaves, 

And bent them with the blossoms to their dreams. 

Still trod the patriarch on with that same step 

Firm and unfaltering", turning not aside 

To seek the olive shades, or lave their lips 

In the sweet waters at the Syrian wells, 

Whose gush hath so much music. Weariness 

Stole on the gentle boy, and he forgot 

To toss the sunny hair from off his brow, 

And spring for the fresh flowers on light wings, 

As in the early morning; but he kept 

Close by his father's side, and bent his head 

Upon his bosom like a drooping bud, 

Lifting it not, save now and then to steal 

A look up to the face whose sternness awed 

His childishness to silence. 

It was noon — 
And Abraham on Moriah bow'd himself, 
And buried up his face, and pray'd for strength. 
He could not look upon his son and pray, 
But with his hand upon the clustering curls 
Of the fair, kneeling boy, he pray'd that God 
Would nerve him for that hour. Oh man was made 
For the stern conflict. In a mother's love 
There is more tenderness; the thousand cords 
Woven with every fibre of her heart, 
Complain like delicate harp-strings, at a breath ; 
But love in man is one deep principle, 
Which, like a root grown in a rifted rock, 
Abides the tempest. He rose up and laid 
The wood upon the altar. All was done, 
He stood a moment — and a deep, quick flush 
Pass'd o'er his countenance; and then he nerv'd 
His spirit with a bitter strength, and spoke- — 
" Isaac ! my only son" — The boy looked up, 
And Abraham turn'd his face away, and wept. 
"Where is the lamb, my father ?"— oh the tones, 
The sweet, the, thrilling music of a child' 
How it doth agonize at such an hour! 
It was the last deep struggle — Abraham held 
His lov'd, his beautiful, his only son, 
And lifted up his arm, and call'd on God — 
And lo ! God's Angel staid him — and he fell 
Upon his face and wept. 



23* 



270 POETIC PIECES. 

NIGHT BEFORE AND BATTLE OF WATERLOO. 

There was a sound of revelry by night, 
And Belgium's capital had gathered then 
Her beauty and her Chivalry, and bright 
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men 
A thousand hearts beat happily; and when 
Music arose with its voluptuous swell, 
Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, 
And all went merry as a marriage-bell ; 
But hush ! hark ! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell. 

Did ye not hear it? — no; 'twas but the wind, 
Or the car rattling o'er the stony street; 
On with the dance I let joy be unconfirmed ; 
No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet 
To chase the glowing hours with flying feet — 
But hark! — that heavy sound breaks in once more, 
As if the clouds its echo would repeat; 
And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! 
Arm ! Arm ! it is- — it is — the cannon's opening roar 

Within a windowed niche of that high hall 
Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain; he did hear 
That sound the first amidst the festival, 
And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear; 
And when they smiled because he deem'd it near 
His heart more truly knew that peal too well 
Which stretch'd his father on a bloody bier, 
And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell: 
He rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, felL 

Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro, 
And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, 
And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago 
Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness; 
And there were sudden partings, such as press 
The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs 
Which ne'er might be repeated; who could guess 
If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, 
Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise? 

And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, 
The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, 
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed. 
And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; 
And the deep thunder peal on peal afar; 
And near, the beat of the alarming drum 
Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; 



POETIC PIECES. 271 

While throng'd the citizens with terror dumb, 
Or whispering 1 , with white lips — " The foe! They come/ 
they come!" 

And wild and high the ( Cameron's gathering' rose! 
The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills 
Have heard, and heard, too, have her saxon foes: 
How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills, 
Savage and shrill! But with the breath which fills 
Their mountain pipe, so fill the mountaineers 
With the fierce native daring which instills 
The stirring memory of a thousand years, 
And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's ears! 

And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, 
Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass, 
Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, 
Over the unreturning brave, — alas! 
Ere evening to be trodden like the grass 
Which now beneath them, but above shall grow 
In its next verdure, when this fiery mass 
Of living va!or, rolling on the foe 
And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low. 

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, 
Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, 
The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, 
The morn the marshalling in arms, — the day 
Battle's magnificently-stern array ! 
The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent 
The earth iscover'd thick with other clay, 
Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, 
Rider and horse, — friend, foe, — in one red burial blent J 



LINES ADDRESSED TO A SKULL. 

Look on its broken arch, its ruin'd wall, 
Its chambers desolate, and portals foul : 
Yes, this was once Ambition's airy hall, 
The dome of Thought, the palace of the Soul: 
Behold through each lack-lustre, eyeless hole, 
The gay recess of Wisdom and of Wit, 
And passion's host, that never brook'd control: 
Can all, saint, sage, or sophist ever writ, 
People this lonely tower, this tenement refit? 



272 POETIC PIECES. 

A STORM AT NIGHT AMID THE ALPS. 

The sky is changed ! — and such a change ! Oh night 
And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, 
Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light 
Of a dark eye in woman! Far along, 
From peak to peak, the rattling crags among 
Leaps the live thunder! Not from one lone cloud, 
But every mountain now hath found a tongue, 
And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, 
Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud! 

And this is in the night: — Most glorious nightl 
Thou wert not sent for slumber ! let me be 
A sharer in thy fierce and far delight,-^ 
A portion of the tempest and of thee ! 
How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea, 
And the big rain comes dancing to the earth! 
And now again 'tis black, — and now the glee 
Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth, 
As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth. 



THE CATARACT OF VELINO. 

The roar of waters ! — from the headlong height 
Velino cleaves the wave- worn precipice; 
The fall of waters ! rapid as the light 
The flashing mass foams shaking the abyss; 
The hell of waters ! where they howl and hiss, 
And boil in endless torture; while the sweat 
Of their great agony, wrung out from this 
Their Phlegethon, curls round the rocks of jet 
That gird the gulf around, in pitiless horror set, 

And mounts in spray the skies, and thence again 
Returns in an unceasing shower, which round, 
With its unemptied cloud of gentle rain, 
Is an eternal April to the ground 
Making it all one emerald : — how profound 
The gulf! and how the giant element 
From rock to rock leaps with delirious bound, 
Crushing the cliffs, which, downward worn and rent 
With his fierce footsteps, yield in chasms a fearful v«nt 

To the broad column which rolls on, and shows 
More like the fountain of an infant sea 



POETIC PIECES. 27ti 

Torn from the womb of mountains by the throes 
Of a new world, than only thus to be 
Parent of rivers, which flow gushingly, 
With many windings, through the vale: — Look back! 
Lo! where it comes like an eternity, 
As if to sweep down all things in its track, 
Charming the eye with dread, — a matchless cataract, 

Horribly beautiful! but on the verge, 
From side to side, beneath the glittering morn, 
An Iris sits, amidst the infernal surge, 
Like Hope upon a death-bed, and, unworn 
Its steady dyes, while all around is torn 
By the distracted waters, bears serene 
Its brilliant hues with all their beams unshorn: 
Resembling, 'mid the torture of the scene, 
Love watching Madness with unalterable mien. 



VENICE. 



I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs; 
A palace and a prison on each hand : 
I saw from out the wave her structures rise 
As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand : 
A thousand years their cloudy wings expand 
Around me, and a dying Glory smiles 
O'er the far times, when many a subject land 
Look'd to the winged Lion's marble piles, 
Where Venice sat in state, thron'd on her hundred Isles 

She looks a sea Cybele, fresh from Ocean, 
Rising with her tiara of proud towers 
At airy distance, with majestic motion, 
A ruler of the waters and their powers: 
And such she was; — Her daughters had their dowers 
From spoils of nations, and the exhaustless East 
Pour\l in her lap all gems in sparkling showers. 
In purple was she robed, and of her feast 
Monarchs partook, and deem'd their dignity increased. 



In Venice Tasso's echoes are no more, 
And silent rows the songless gondolier; 
Her palaces are crumbling to the shore, 
And music meets not always now the ear, 
Those days are gone — but Beauty still is here. 
States fall, arts fade — but Nature doth not die: 
Nor yet forget how Venice once was dear, 



27£ POETIC PIECES. 

The pleasant place of all festivity, 
The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy ! 

But unto us she hath a spell beyond 
Her name in story, and her long array 
Of mighty shadows, whose dim forms despond 
Above the dogeless city's vanish'd sway; 
Ours is a trophy which will not decay 
With the Rialto ; Shylock and the Moor, 
And Pierre, cannot be swept or worn away- — 
The keystones of the arch ! though all were o'er, 
For us repeopled were the solitary shore. 

The beings of the mind are not of clay; 
Essentially immortal, they create 
And multiply in us a brighter ray 
And more beloved existence: that which Fate 
Prohibits to dull life, in this our state 
Of mortal bondage, by these spirits supplied 
First exiles, then replaces what we hate; 
Watering the heart whose early flowers have died, 
And with a fresher growth replenishing the void* 

Such is the refuge of our youth and age, 
The first from hope, the last from vacancy; 
And this worn feeling peoples many a page, 
And, may be, that which grows beneath mine eye. 
Yet there are things whose strong reality 
Outshines our fairy- land; in shape and hues 
More beautiful than our fantastic sky, 
And the strange constellations which the Muse 
O'er her wild universe is skilful to diffuse : 

I saw or dreamed of such, — but let them go— 
They came like truth, and disappeared like dreams; 
And whatso'er they were — are now but so : 
I could replace them if I would, still teems 
My mind with many a form which aptly seems 
Such as I sought for, and at moments found, 
Let these too go — for waking Reason deems 
Such over-weening phantasies unsound, 
Ind other voices speak, and other sights surround. 

I've taught me other tongues — and in strange eyet 
Have made me not a stranger; to the mind 
Which is itself, no changes bring surprise; 
Nor is it harsh to make, nor hard to find 
A country with — ay, or without mankind; 



POETIC PIECES. 275 

Yet was I born where men are proud to be, 
Not without cause; and should I leave behind 
The inviolate island of the sage and free, 
And seek me out a home by a remoter sea. 

Perhaps I loved it well : and should I lay 
My ashes in a soil which is not mine, 
My spirit shall resume it — if we may 
Unbodied choose a sanctuary. I twine 
My hopes of being remembered in my line 
With my land's language: if too fond and far 
These aspirations in their scope incline, — 
If my fame should be, as my fortunes are, 
Of hasty growth and blight, and dull oblivion bar 

My name from out the temple where the dead 
Are honored by the nations— let it be- 
And light the laurels on a loftier head! 
And be the Spartan's epitaph on me— 
'Sparta hath many a worthier son than he.' 
Meantime I seek no sympathies, nor need; 
The thorns which I have reaped are of the tree 
I planted,— they have torn me, — and I bleed : 
I should have known what fruit would spring from such 4 
seed. 

The spouseless Adriatic mourns her lord; 
And, annual marriage now no more renewed, 
The Bucentaur lies rotting unrestored, 
Neglected garment of her widowhood! 
St. Mark yet sees his lion where he stood 
Stand, but in mockery of his withered power, 
Over the proud place where an emperor sued, 
And Monarchs gazed and envied in the hour 
When Venice was a queen with an unequalled dower. 

The Suabian sued, and now the Austrian reigns — 
An Emperor tramples where an Emperor knelt; 
Kingdoms are shrunk to provinces, and chains 
Clank over sceptred cities ; nations melt 
From power's high pinnacle, when they have felt 
The sunshine for a while, and downward go 
Like lauwine loosen'd from the mountain's belt, 
Oh for one hour of blind old Dandolo ! 
Th' octogenarian chief, Byzantium's conquering foe. 

Before St. Mark still glow his steeds of brass, 
Their gilded collars glittering in the sun; 
But is not Doria's menace come to pass? 
Are they < not bridled?' — Venice, lost and won, 



276 POETIC PIECES. 

Her thirteen hundred years of freedom done 
Sinks like a sea- weed, into whence she rose! 
Better be whelm'd beneath the waves, and shun, 
Even in destruction's depth, her foreign foes, 
From whom submission wrings an infamous repose. 

In youth she was all glory, — a new Tyre,— • 
Her very by-word sprung from victory, 
The * Planter of the Lion,' which through fire 
And blood she bore o'er subject earth and sea; 
Though making many slaves, herself still free, 
And Europe's bulwark 'gainst the Ottomite; 
Witness Troy's rival, Candia ! Vouch it, ye 
Immortal waves that saw Lepanto's fight! 
For ye are names no time nor tyranny can blight. 

Statues of glass — all shiver'd — the long file 
Of her dead Doges are declined to dust; 
But where they dwelt, the vast and sumptuous pile 
Bespeaks the pageant of their splendid trust; 
Their sceptre broken, and their sword in rust, 
Have yielded to the stranger: empty halls, 
Thin streets, and foreign aspects, such as must 
Too oft remind her who and what enthralls, 
Have flung a desolate cloud o'er Venice' lovely walls. 

When Athens' armies fell at Syracuse, 
And fettered thousands bore the yoke of war, 
Redemption rose up in the Attic Muse, 
Her voice their only ransom from afar: 
See! as they chant the tragic hymn, the car 
Of the o'ermastered victor stops, the reins 
Fall from his hands — his idle scimitar 
Starts from its belt — he rends his captive's chains, 
And bids him thank the bard for freedom and his strains* 

Thus, Venice, if no stronger claim were thine, 
Were all thy proud historic deeds forgot, 
Thy choral memory of the bard divine, 
Thy love of Tasso, should have cut the knot 
Which ties thee to thy tyrants; and thy lot 
Is shameful to the nations, — most of all, 
Albion! to thee : the Ocean's queen should not 
Abandon Ocean's children; in the fall 
Of Venice think of thine, despite thy watery wall. 

I loved her from my boyhood — She to me 
Was as a fairy city of the heart, 
Rising like water- columns from the sea, 
Of joy the sojourn, and of wealth the martj 



POETIC PIECES. 277 

And Otway, Radcliffe, Schiller, Shakspeare's art 
Had stamp'd her image in me, and even so, 
Although I found her thus, we dkl not part, 
Perchance even dearer in her day of woe, 
Than when she was a boast, a marvel and a show. 

I can repeople with the past- — and of 
The present there is still for eye and thought, 
And meditation chasten'd down, enough; 
And more, it may be, than I hoped or sought; 
And of the happiest moments which were wrought 
Within the web of my existence, some 
From thee, fair Venice! have their colours caught: 
There are some feelings time cannot benumb, 
Nor torture shake, or mine would now be cold and dunifr 

But from their nature will the tannen grow 
Loftiest on loftiest and least sheltered rocks, 
Rooted in barrenness, where nought below 
Of soil supports them 'gainst the Alpine shocks 
Of eddying storms; yet springs the trunk and mocks 
The howling tempest, till its height and frame 
Are worthy of the mountain from whose blocks 
Of bleak, gray, granite, into life it came, 
And grew a giant tree ; — the mind may grow the same 

Existence may be borne, and the deep root 
Of life and sufferance make its firm abode 
In bare and desolated bosoms : mute 
The camel labours with the heaviest load, 
And the wolf dies in silence, — not bestow'd 
In vain should such example be; if they, 
Things of ignoble or of savage mood, 
Endure and shrink not, we of nobler clay 
May temper it to bear, — it is but for a day. 

All suffering doth destroy, or is destroy'd, 
Even by the sufferer ; and, in each event, 
Ends. Some, with hope replenish'd and rebuoy'd, 
Return to whence they came — with like intent, 
And weave their web again; some, bow'd and bent, 
Wax gray and ghastly, withering ere their time, 
And perish with the reed on which they leant: 
Some seek devotion, toil, war, good or crime, 
According as their souls were form'd to sink or climb. 

But ever and anon of griefs subdued 
There comes a token like a scorpion's sting, 
Scarce seen, but with fresh bitterness imbued: 
And slight withal may he the things which bring 

24 



278 POETIC PIECES. 

Back on the heart the weight which it would fling 
Aside for ever: it may be a sound — 
A tone of music, — summer's eve — or spring-, 
A flower — the wind — the Ocean — which shall wound, 
Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound; 

And how and why we know not, nor can trace 
Home to its cloud this lightning of the mind, 
But feel the shock renew'd, nor can efface 
The blight and blackening which it leaves behind, 
Which out of things familiar, undesign'd 
When least we deem of such, calls up to view 
The spectres whom no exorcism can bind, 
The cold — the changed — perchance the dead — anew, 
The mourn'd, the loved, the lost — too many! — yet how few! 

But my soul wanders ; I demand it back 
To meditate amongst decay, and stand 
A ruin amidst ruins; there to track 
Fall'n states and buried greatness, o'er a land 
Which was the mightiest in its old command, 
And is the loveliest, and must ever be 
The master-mould of Nature's heavenly hand, 
Wherein were cast the heroic and the free, 
The beautiful, the brave — the lords of earth and sea. 

The commonwealth of kings, the men of Rome I 

And even since, and now, fair Italy ! 

Thou art the garden of the world, the home 

Of all Art yields, and Nature can decree; 

Even in thy desert, what is like to thee? 

Thy very weeds are beautiful, thy waste 
- More rich than other climes' fertility; 

Thy wreck a glory, and thy ruin graced 
With an immaculate charm which cannot be defaced* 

The moon is up, and yet it is not night — 
Sunset divides the sky with her — a sea 
Of glory streams along the Alpine height 
Of blue Friuli's mountains; heaven is free 
From clouds, but of all colours seems to be 
Melted to one vast Iris of the West, 
Where the day joins the past Eternity; 
While, on the other hand, meek Dian's crest 
Floats through the azure air — an island of the blest 1 

A single star is at her side, and reigns 
With her o'er half the lovely heaven; but still 
Yon sunny sea heaves brightly, and remains 
Roll'd o'er the peak of the far Rhaetian hill, 



POETIC PIECES. 279 

As Day and night contending were, until 
Nature reclaim'd her order : — gently llows 
The deep- dyed Brenta, where their hues instil 
The odorous purple of a new-born rose, 
Which streams upon her stream, and glass'd within it glows i 

Fill'd with the face of heaven, which, from afar 
Comes down upon the waters: all its hues, 
From the rich sunset to the rising star, 
Their magical variety diffuse : 
And now they change; a paler shadow strews 
Its mantle o'er the mountains; parting day 
Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues 
With a new colour as it gasps away, 
The last still loveliest, till — 'tis gone, and all is gray. 



ROME. 



Oh Rome ! my country ! city of the soul ! 
The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, 
Lone mother of dead empires! and control 
In their shut breasts their petty misery. 
What are our woes and sufferance ? Come and see 
The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way 
O'er steps of broken thrones and temples. Ye ! 
Whose agonies are evils of a day — 
A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay. 

The Niobe of nations! there she stands, 
Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe; 
An empty urn within her withered hands, 
Whose holy dust was scatter'd long ago ; 
The Scipio's tomb contains no ashes now; 
The very sepulchres lie teoantless 
Of their heroic dwellers : dost thou flow. 
Old Tiber ! through a marble wilderness 1 
Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress. 

The Goth, the Christian, Time, War, Flood, and Fire, 

Have dealt upon the seven-hill'd city's pride; 

She saw her glories star by star expire, 

And up the steep barbarian monarchs ride, 

Where the car climb'd the capitol; far and wide 

Temple and tower went down, nor left a site :— • 

Chaos of ruins ! who shall trace the void, 

O'er the dim fragments cast a lunar light, 

And say, " here was, or is," where all is doubly night f 



286 POETIC PIECES, 

THE OCEAN. 
There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, 
There is a rapture on the lonely shore, 
There is society, where none intrudes, 
By the deep Sea, and music in its roar: 
I love not Man the less, but Nature more, 
From these our interviews, in which I steal 
From all I may be, or have been before, 
To mingle with the Universe, and feel, 
What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal. 

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean — roll ! 
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; 
Man marks the earth with ruin — his control 
Stops with the shore; — upon the watery plain 
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain 
A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, 
When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, 
He sinks into thy dept 1 s with bubbling groan, 
Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown. 

The armaments which thunderstrike the walls 
Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake, 
And monarchs tremble in their capitals, 
The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make 
Their clay creator the vain title take 
Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war; 
These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, 
They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar 
Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar. 

Thy shores are empires, changed m all save thee - 
Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they f 
Thy waters wasted them while they were free, 
And many a tyrant since; their shores obey 
The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay 
Has dried up realms to deserts: — not so thou, 
Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play 
Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow- 
Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou roll est now. 

Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form 
Glasses itself in tempests; in all time, 
Calm orconvuls'd — in breeze, or gale, or storm, 
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime 
Bark heaving; — boundless, endless, and sublime— 
The image of Eternity — the throne 
Of the invisible; even from out thy slime 
The monsters of the deep are made; each zone 
Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone* 



POETIC PIECES. 

GREECE. 

No breath of air to break the wave 
That rolls below the Athenian's grave, 
That tomb which, gleaming o'er the cliff, 
First greets the homeward-veering skiff, 
High o'er the land he saved in vain: 
When shall such hero live again ? 



Fair clime ! where every season smile* 
Benignant o'er those blessed isles, 
Which seen from far Colonna's height, 
Make glad the heart that hails the sight, 
And lend to loneliness delight. 
There, mildly dimpling, Ocean's cheek 
Beflects the tints of many a peak 
Caught by the laughing tides that lave 
These Edens of the eastern wave; 
And if at times a transient breeze 
Break the blue crystal of the seas, 
Or sweep one blossom from the trees, 
How welcome is each gentle air 
That wakes and wafts the odours there ! 
For there — the Rose o'er crag or vale, 
Sultana of the Nightingale, 
The maid for whom his melody, 
His thousand songs are heard on high, 
Blooms blushing to her lover's tale: 
His queen, the garden queen, his Rose, 
Unbent by winds, unchilled by snows, 
Far from the winters of the west, 
By every breeze and season blest, 
Returns the sweets by nature given 
In softest incense back to heaven, 
And grateful yields that smiling sky 
Her fairest hue and fragrant sigh. 
And many a summer flower is there, 
And many a shade that love might share, 
And many a grotto, meant for rest, 
That holds the pirate for a guest; 
Whose bark in sheltering cove below 
Lurks for the passing peaceful prow, 
Till the gay mariner's guitar 
Is heard, and seen the evening star; 
Then stealing with the muffled oar, 
Far shaded by the rocky shore, 
Rush the night-prowlers on the prey 
And turn to groans his roundelay. 
Strange— ^that where Nature loved to trace, 
As if for Gods, a dwelling place, 



281 



24" 



382 POETIC PIECES. 

And every charm and grace hath mixed 

Within the paradise she fixed, 

There man, enamoured of distress, 

Should mar it into wilderness, 

And trample, brute-like, o'er each floww 

That tasks not one laborious hour; 

Nor claims the culture of his hand, 

To bloom along the fairy land, 

But springs as to preclude his care, 

And sweetly woos him — but to spare! 

Strange — that where all is peace beside 

There passion riots in her pride, 

And lust and rapine wildly reign 

To darken o'er the fair domain. 

It is as though the fiends prevailed 

Against the seraphs they assailed, 

And, fixed on heavenly thrones, should dwell 

The freed inheritors of hell; 

So soft the scene, so formed for joy, 

So cursed the tyrants that destroy ! 

He who hath bent him o'er the dead 
Ere the first day of death is fled, 
Before Decay's effacing fingers 
Have swept the lines where beauty lingers, 
And marked the mild angelic air, 
The rapture of repose that's there, 
The fixed yet tender traits that streak 
The languor of the placid cheek, 
And — but for that sad shrouded eye, 
That fires not, wins not, weeps not, now, 
And but for that chill changeless brow, 
Where cold obstruction's apathy 
Appals the gazing mourner's heart, 
As if to him it could impart 
The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon; 
Yes, but for these and these alone, 
Some moments, ay, one treacherous hour, 
He still might doubt the tyrant's power; 
So fair, so calm, so softly sealed, 
The first last look by death revealed! 
Such is the aspect of this shore; 
'Tis Greece, but living Greece no more 
So coldly sweet, so deadly fair, 
We start, for soul is wanting there. 
Hers is the loveliness in death, 
That parts not quite with parting breath; 
But beauty with that fearful bloom, 
That hue which haunts it to the tomb, 
Expression's last receding ray, 



POETIC PIECES. 283 

A gilded halo hovering round decay, 
The farewell beam of feeling past away! 
Spark of that flame, perchance of heavenly birth, 
Which gleams, but warms no more its cherished earth! 

Clime of the unforgotten brave ! 
Whose land from plain to mountain-care 
Was Freedom's home or Glory's grave! 
Shrine of the mighty! can it be, 
That this is all remains of thee? 
Approach, thou craven-crouching slave 

Say, is not this Thermopylae? 
These waters blue that round you lave, 

Oh servile offspring of the free, 
Pronounce what sea, what shore is this 1 
The gulf, the rock of Salamis! 
These scenes, their story not unknown, 
Arise, and make again your own; 
Snatch from the ashes of your sires 
The embers of their former fires; 
And he who in the strife expires 
Will add to theirs a name of fear 
That tyranny shall quake to hear, 
And leave his sons a hope, a fame, 
They too will rather die than shame: 
For Freedom's battle once begun, 
Bequeathed by bleeding sire to son, 
Though baffled oft is ever won. 
Bear witness, Greece, thy living page, 
Attest it many a deathless age ! 
While kings, in dusty darkness hid, 
Have left a nameless pyramid, 
Thy heroes, though the general doom 
Hath swept the column from their tomb, 
A mightier monument command, 
The mountains of their native land! 
There points thy Muse to stranger's eye 
The graves of those that cannot die! 
'Twere long to tell, and sad to trace, 
Each step from splendour to disgrace; 
Enough — no foreign foe could quell 
Thy soul, till from itself it fell, 
Yes! self-abasement paved the way 
1 o villain-bonds and despot-sway. 



284 POETIC PIECES. 



THE CORSE. 

They gain by twilight's hour their lonely isle, 
To them the very rocks appear to smile; 
The haven hums with many a cheering sound, 
The beacons blaze their wonted stations rouad, 
The boats are darting o'er the curly bay, 
And sportive dolphins bend them through the spray , 
Even the hoarse sea-bird's shrill, discordant shriek, 
Greets like the welcome of his tuneless beak ! 
Beneath each lamp that through its lattice gleams, 
Their fancy paints the friends that trim the beams. 
Oh ! what can sanctify the joys of home, 
Like Hope's gay glance from Ocean's troubled foam ? 

The lights are high on beacon and from bower, 

And midst them Conrad seeks Medora's tower : 

He looks in vain — 'tis strange— and all remark, 

Amid so many, hers alone is dark. 

'Tis strange — of yore its welcome never failed, 

Nor now, perchance, extinguished, only veiled. 

With the first boat descends he for the shore, 

And looks impatient on the lingering oar. 

Oh! for a wing beyond the falcon's flight, 

To bear him like an arrow to that height ! 

With the first pause the resting rowers gave, 

He waits not — looks not — leaps into the wave, 

Strives through the surge, bestrides the beach, and high 

Ascends the path familiar to his eye. 

He reached his turret door — he paused— no sound 
Broke from within ; and all was night around. 
He knocked, and loudly — footstep nor reply 
Announced that any heard or deemed him nigh ; 
He knocked — but faintly — for his trembling hand 
Refused to aid his heavy hearts demand.' 
The portal opens — 'tis a well-known face — 
But not the form he panted to embrace. 
Its lips are silent — twice his own essayed, 
And failed to frame the question they delayed ; 
He snatched the lamp — its light will answer all — 
It quits his grasp, expiring in the fall. 
He would not wait for that reviving ray- 
As soon could l»c have lingered there for day ; 
But, glimmering through the dusky corridor, 
Another chequers o'er the shadowed floor ; 
His steps the chamber gain — his eyes behold 
All that his heart believed not — yet foretold! 



POETIC PIECES. 285 

He turned not — spoke not — sunk not — fixed his lock, 
And set the anxious frame that lately shook : 
He gazed — how long we gaze despile of pain, 
And know, but dare not own, we gaze in vain I 
In life itself she was so still and fair, 
That death with gentler aspect withered there ; 
And the cold flowers her colder hand contained, 
In that last grasp as tenderly were strained 
As if she scarcely felt, but feigned a sleep, 
And made it almost mockery yet to weep : 
The long dark lashes fringed her lids of snow. 
And veiled — thought shrinks from all that lurked below— 
Oh ! o'er the eye death most exerts his might, 
And hurls the spirit from her throne of light I 
Sinks those blue orbs in that long last eclipse, 
But spares, as yet, the charm around her lips- 
Yet, yet they seem as they forebore to smile, 
And wished repose — but only for a while ; 
But the white shroud, and each extended tress, 
Long — fair — but spread in utter lifelessness, 
Which, late the sport of every summer wind, 
Escaped the baffled wreath that strove to bind ; 
These — and the pale pure cheek, became the bier— 
But she is nothing — wherefore is he here ? 

He asked no question — all were answered now 
By the first glance on that still — marble brow. 
It was enough — she died — what recked it how ? 
The love of youth, the hope of better years, 
The source of softest wishes, tenderest fears, 
The only living thing he could not hate, 
Was reft at once — and he deserved his fate, 
But did not feel it less ; — the good explore, 
For peace, those realms where guilt can never soar ; 
The proud — the wayward — who have fixed below 
Their joy — and find this earth enough for woe 4 
Lose in that one their all — perchance a mite — 
But who in patience parts with all delight ? 
Full many a stoic eye and aspect stern 
Mask hearts where grief hath little left to learn 
And many a withering thought lies hid, not lost 
In smiles that least befit who wear them most. 

By those, that deepest feel, is ill exprest 
The indistinctness of the suffering breast ; 
Where thousand thoughts begin to end in one, 
Which seeks from all the refuge found in none ■ 
No words suffice the secret soul to show, 
For Truth denies all eloquence to Woe* 



286 POETIC PIECES. 

On Conrad's stricken sou] exhaustion prest, 
And stupor almost lulled it into rest ; 
So feeble now — his mother's softness crept 
To those wild eyes, which like an infant's wept: 
It was the very weakness of his brain, 
Which thus confessed without relieving pain. 
None saw his trickling tears — perchance, if seen, 
That useless flood of grief had never been : 
Nor long they flowed — he dried them to depart, 
In helpless — hopeless — brokenness of heart ; 
The sun goes forth — but Conrad's day is dim ; 
And the night cometh — ne'er to pass from him. 
There is no darkness like the cloud of mind, 
On Griefs vain eye — the blindest of the blind 1 
Which may not — dare not see — but turns aside 
To blackest shade — nor will endure a guide ! 

His heart was formed for softness — warped to wrong , 
Betrayed too early, and beguiled too long ; 
Each feeling pure — as falls the dropping dew 
Within the grot ; like that had hardened too ; 
Less clear, perchance, its earthly trials passed, 
But sunk, and chilled, and petrified at last. 
Yet tempests wear, and lightning cleaves the rock ; 
If such his heart, so shattered it the shock. 
There grew one flower beneath its rugged brow, 
Though dark the shade — it sheltered — save till now. 
The thunder came — that bolt hath blasted both, 
The granite's firmness, and the lily's growth : 
The gentle plant hath left no leaf to tell 
Its ta!e, but shrunk and withered where it fell, 
And of its cold protector, blacken round 
But shivered fragments on the barren ground I 

•Tis morn — to venture on his lonely hour 

Few dare ; though now Anselmo sought his tower, 

He was not there — nor seen along the shore ; 

Ere night, alarmed, their isle is traversed o'er: 

Another morn — another bids them seek, 

And shout his name till echo waxeth weak; 

Mount — grotto — cavern — valley searched in vain, 

They find on shore a sea-boat's broken chain : 

Their hopes revive — they follow o'er the main. 

Tis idle all — moons roll on moons away, 

And Conrad comes not — came not since that day : 

Nor trace, nor tidings of his doom declare 

Where lives his grief, or perished his despair ! 

Long mourn'd his band whom none could mourn beside J 

Aiid fair the monument they gave his bride : 



POETIC PIECES. 287 

For him they raise not the recording stone — 
His death yet dubious, deeds too widely known ; 
He left a Corsair's name to other times, 
Linked with one virtue, and a thousand Crimea. 



PARADISE AND THE PERI. 

One morn a Peri at the gate 
Of Eden stood, disconsolate ; 
And as she listen'd to the Springs 

Of life within, like music flowing, 
Had caught the light upon her wings 

Through the half-open portal glowing, 
She wept to think her recreant race 
Should e'er have lost that glorious place ! 

44 How happy," exclaim'd this child of air, 
44 Are the holy spirits who wander there, 

41 'Mid flowers that never shall fade or fall 
«« Though mine are the gardens of earth and sea, 
44 And the stars themselves have flowers for me, 

" One blossom of heaven out-blooms them all I 

4 Though sunny the lake of cool Cashmere, 
44 With its plane-tree Isle reflected clear, 

" And sweetly the founts of that valley fall ; 
" Though bright are the waters of Sing.su-hay, 
" And the golden floods, that thitherward stray, 
44 Yet — oh 'tis only the blest can say 
44 How the waters of Heaven outshine them all! 
44 Go wing thy flight from star to star, 
44 From world to luminous world as far 

44 As the universe spreads its flaming wall ; 
44 Take all the pleasures of all the spheres, 
44 And multiply each through endless years, 

44 One minute of Heaven is worth them all !* 

The glorious Angel, who was keeping 

The gates of Light, beheld her weeping ; 
And, as he nearer drew and listen'd 

To her sad song, a tear-drop glisten'd 

Within his eyelids, like the spray 
From Eden's fountain, when it lies 

On the blue flovv'r, which Bramins say- 
Blooms no where but in Paradise ! 

44 Nymph of a fair, but erring line !" 

Gently he said — " One hope is thine. 



8S8 POETJJ P/.ECES. 

" 'Tis written in the book of Fate, 
Ci The Peri yet may be forgiven 

•* Who brings to this Eternal Gate 

M The Gift that is most dear to Heaven •• 

' Go, seek it and redeem thy sin ; — 

" Tis sweet to let the pardon'd in !" 



Now, upon Syria's land of roses 
Softly the light of Eve reposes, 
And, like a glory, the hroad sun 
Hangs over sainted Lebanon ; 
Whose head in wintry grandeur towers, 

And whitens with eternal sleet, 
While summer, in a vale of flowers, 

Is sleeping rosy at his feet. 

To one, who look'd from upper air 
O'er ail th' enchanted regions there, 
How beauteous must have been the glow 
The life, the sparkling from below ! 
Fair gardens, shining streams, with r&nb* 
Of golden melons on their banks, 
More golden where the sun-light falla ;— 
Gay lizards glittering on the walls 
Of ruin'd shrines, busy and bright 
As they were all alive with light, — 
And yet more splendid, numerous flocks 
Of pigeons, settling on the rocks, 
With their rich restless wings, that gleam 
Variously in the crimson beam 
Of the warm west, — .as if inlaid 
With brilliants from the mine, or mado 
Of tearless rainbows, such as span 
Th' unclouded skies of Peristan. 
And then the mingling sounds that come, 
01 shepherd's ancient reed, with hum 
Of the wild bees of Palestine, 

Banqueting through the flowery vales j- 
And Jordan, those sweet banks of thine, 
And woods so full of nightingales! 

But nought can charm the luckless Peri: 
Her soul is sad — her wings are weary — 
Joyless she sees the sun look down 
On that great temple, once his own, 
Whose lonely columns stand sublime, 

Flinging their shadows from on high, 
Like dials, which the wizard, Time, 

Had raised to -count his ages by] 



POETIC PIECES. 289 



Yet haply (here may lie conceal'd 

Beneath those Chambers of the Sun, 
Some amulet of gems anneal'd 
In upper fires, some tablet seal'd 
With the great name of Solomon, 
Which, speird by her illumin'd eyes, 
May teach her where, beneath the moon, 
In earth or ocean lies the boon, 
The charm that can restore so soon, 
An erring spirit to the skies! 



Cheer'd by this hope she bends her thither j- 

Still laughs the radiant eye of Heaven, 

Nor have the golden bowers of Even 
In the rich West begun to wither;— 
When, o'er the vale of Balbec winging, 

Slowly, she sees a child at play. 
Among the rosy wild-flowers singing, 

As rosy and as wild as they; 
Chasing with eager hands and eyes, 
The beautiful blue damsel flies, 
That flutter 'd round the jasmine stems, 
Like winged flowers or flying gems; — 
And, near the boy, who, tir'd with play 
Now nesting 'mid the roses lay, 
She saw a wearied man dismount 

From his hot steed, and on the brink 
Of a small Minaret's rustic fount 

Impatient fling him down to drink. 
Then swift his haggard brow he turn'd 

To the fair child, who fearless sat, 
Though never yet hath day- beam burn'd 

Upon a brow more fierce than that,— 
Sullenly fierce — a mixture dire, 
Like thunder-clouds, of gloom and fire ! 
In which the Peri's eye could read 
Dark tales of many a ruthless deed ; 
The ruin'd maid — the shrine profan'd— 
Oaths broken — and the threshold stain'd 
With blood of guests ! — there written, all, 
Black as the damning drops that fall 
From the denouncing Angel's pen, 
Eire Mercy weeps them out again ! 
Yet tranquil now that man of crime, 
As if the balmy evening time 
Soften'd his spirit, look'd and lay 
Watching the rosy infant's play; — 
Though still, whene'er his eye by chance 
Fell on the boy's, its lurid glance 



25 



290 POETIC PIECES. 

Met that unclouded, joyous gaze, 
As torches, that have burnt all night 
Through some impure and godless rite, 

Encounter morning's glorious rays* 

But hark ! the vesper call to prayer , 

As slow the orb of day-light sets, 
Is rising sweetly on the air, 

From Syria's thousand minarets ! 
The boy has started from the bed 
Of flowers, where he had laid his head, 
And down upon a fragrant sod 

Kneels with his forehead to the south, 
Lisping th' eternal name of God 

From purity's own cherub mouth, 
And looking, while his hands and eyes 
Are lifted to the glowing skies, 
Like a stray babe of Paradise, 
Just lighted on that flowery plain, 
And seeking for its home again ! 
Oh 'twas a sight — that Heav'n — that child—* 
A scene, which might have well beguiPd 
Ev'n haughty Eblis of a sigh 
For glories lost and peace gone by ! 

And how felt he, the wretched Man, 
Reclining there — while memory ran 
O'er many a year of guilt and strife, 
Flew o'er the dark flood of his life, 
Nor found one sunny resting-place, 
Nor brought him back one branch of grace J 
'•There was a time," he said in mild, 
Heart-humbled tones — " thou blessed child; 
" When young and haply pure as thou, 
€€ I look'd and pray'd like thee — but now — " 

He hung his head — each nobler aim 
And hope and feeling, which had slept 

From boyhood's hour, that instant eame 
Fresh o'er him, and he wept! he wept 

Blest tears of soul-felt penitence! 

In whose benign, redeeming flow 
Is felt the first, the only sense 

Of guiltless joy that guilt can know. 

" There's a drop," said the Peri, " that down from the 

moon 
" Falls through the withering airs of June 



POETIC PIECES. 291 

" Upon Egypt's land, of so healing a power, 
" So balmy a virtue, that ev'n in the hour 
w That drop descends, contagion dies, 
« And health reanimates earth and skies ! — 
" Oh, is it not thus, thou man of sin, 
" The precious tears of repentence fall? 

* Though foul thy very plagues within, 

« One heavenly drop hath dispelled them all." 

And now — behold him kneeling there, 
By the child's side, in humble prayer, 
While the same sun-beam shines upon 
The guilty and the guiltless one, 
And hymns of joy proclaim through Heaven 
The triumph of a Soul Forgiven ! 

>Twas when the golden orb had set, 
While on their knees they linger'd yet, 
There fell a light more lovely far 
Than ever came from sun or star, 
Upon the tear, that warm and meek, 
Dew'd that repentant sinner's cheek ; 
To mortal eye this light might seem 
A northern flash, a meteor beam — 
But well the enraptur'd Peri knew 
'Twas a bright smile the Angel threw 
From Heaven's gate to hail that tear 
Her harbinger of glory near ! 

« Joy, joy for ever ! my task is done — 

• The Gates are pass'd, and Heaven is won P* 



ADAM'S DESCRIPTION OF FIRST FINDING 
HIMSELF ON EARTH. 

For man to tell how human life began 
Is hard; for who himself beginning knew? 
Desire with thee still longer to converse 
Induced me. As new waked from soundest sleep 
Soft on the flowery herb I found me laid, 
In balmy sweat; which with his beams the sun 
Soon dried, and on the reeking moisture fed. 
Straight toward heaven my wondering eyes I turn'd, 
And gazed awhile the ample sky; till, raised 
By quick instinctive motion, up I sprung, 
As thitherward endeavoring, and upright 
Stood on my feet : about me round I saw 



£92 POETIC PIECES. 

Hill, dale, and shady woods, and sunny plains, 
And liquid lapse of murmuring streams; by these, 
Creatures that lived and moved, and walk'd or flew; 
Birds on the branches warbling; all things smiled, 
With fragrance and with joy my heart o'erflow'd. 
Myself I then perused, and limb by limb 
Surveyed, and sometimes went, and sometimes ran 
With supple joints, as lively vigor led: 
But who I was, or where, or from what cause, 
Knew not; to speak I tried, and forthwith spake; 
My tongue obey'd, and readily could name 
Whate'er I saw. " Thou sun," said I k < fair light, 
And thou enlighten'd earth, so fresh and gay, 
Ye hills, and dales, ye rivers, woods and plains 
And ye that live and move, fair creatures, tell 
Tell, if ye saw, how came I thus, how here?'* 



DESCRIPTION OF EVE'S FIRST FINDING 
HERSELF ON EARTH. 

That day I oft remember when from sleep 

I first awaked, and found myself reposed, 

Under a shade, on flowers, much wondering where 

And what I was, whence thither brought, and how 

Not distant far from thence a murmuring sound 

Of waters issued from a cave, and spread 

Into a liquid plain, then stood unmoved, 

Pure as the expanse of heaven; I thither went 

With unexperienced thought, and laid me down 

On the green bank, to look into the clear 

Smooth lake, that to me seemed another sky 

As I bent down to look, just opposite 

A shape within the watery gleam appear- d, 

Bending to look on me: I started back, 

It started back : but pleased I soon return'd, 

Pleased it return'd as soon with answering looks 

Of sympathy and love: there I had fix'd 

Mine eyes till now, and pined with vain desire, 

Had not a voice thus warned me : what thou seest. 

What there thou seest, fair creature, is thyself; 

With thee it came and goes; but follow me, 

And I will bring thee where no shadow stays 

Thy coming, and thy soft embraces, he 

Whose image thou art; him thou shalt enjoy 

Inseparably thine, to him shalt bear 

Multitudes like thyself, and thence be call'd 

Mother of human race. What could I do, 

But follow straight, invisibly thus led? 



POETIC PIECES. 293 

Till I espied thee, fair indeed, and tall, 

Under a plantain, yet methought less fair, 

Less winning- soft, less amiably mild, 

Than that smooth watery image : back I turned ; 

Thou following, cry'dst aloud, return, fair Eve; 

Whom fly'st thou? whom thou fly'st, of him thou art, 

His flesh, his bone; to give thee being I lent 

Out of my side to thee, nearest my heart, 

Substantial life, to have thee by my side 

Henceforth an individual solace dear; 

Part of my soul, I seek thee, and thee claim, 

My other half. ' With that thy gentle hand 

Seized mine: I yielded; and from that time see 

How beauty is excelled by manly grace, 

And wisdom, which alone is truly fair. 



EVE'S UNQUIET BREAM. 

Now morn, her rosy steps in the eastern clime 
Advancing, sow'd the earth with orient pearl, 
When Adam waked, so custom'd : for his sleep 
Was airy-light, from pure digestion bred, 
And temperate vapors bland, which the only sound 
Of leaves and fuming rills Aurora's fan, 
Lightly dispersed, and the shrill matin song 
Of Birds on every bough; so much the more 
His wonder was to find unwaken'd Eve 
With tresses discomposed, and glowing cheek 
As through unquiet rest : he, on his side 
Leaning, half raised, with looks of cordial love 
Hung over her enamour'd, and beheld 
Beauty, which, whether waking or asleep, 
Shot forth peculiar graces; then with voice 
Mild, as when Zephyrus on Flora breathes, 
Her hand soft touching, whisper'd thus : < Awake 
My fairest, my espoused, my latest found, 
Heaven's last, best gift, my ever new delight I 
Awake : the morning shines, and the fresh field 
Calls us; we lose the prime to mark how spring 
Our tended plants, how blows the citron grove 
What drops the myrrh, and what the balmy reed, 
How Nature paints her colors, how the bee 
Sits on the bloom extracting liquid sweets.' 

Such whispering waked her, but with startled eye 
On Adam, whom embracing, thus she spake. 

' O sole in whom my thoughts find all repose, 
My glory, my perfection ! glad I see 
Thy face and morn return'd ; for I this night, 
Such night till this I never pass'd, have dream'd, 
If dream'd, not, as I oft am wont, of thee, 
Works of day past, or morrow's next design; 

25* 



294 POETIC PIECES. 

But of offence and trouble, which my mind 

Knew never till this irksome night. Methought 

Close at mine ear one call'd me forth to walk 

With gentle voice; I thought it thine: it said, 

Why sleep'st thou, Eve? now is the pleasant time. 

The cool, the silent, save where silence yields 

To the night-warbling bird, that now awake 

Tunes sweetest his love-labor'd song; now reigns 

Full-orb'd the moon, and with more pleasing light 

Shadowy sets off the face of things; in vain, 

If none regard; heaven wakes withallhis eyes., 

Whom to behold but thee, Nature's desire? 

In whose sight all things joy, with ravishment 

Attracted by thy beauty still to gaze. 

I rose as at thy call, but found thee not; 

To find thee I directed then my walk; 

And on, methought, alone I pass'd through ways 

That brought me on a sudden to the tree 

Of interdicted knowledge; fair it scem'd, 

Much fairer to my fancy than by day : 

And, as I Wondering look'd, beside it stood 

One shaped and wing'd like one of those from heart 

By us oft seen: his dewy locks distill'd 

Ambrosia : on that tree he also gazed ; 

And, O, fair plant, said he, with fruit surcharg'd, 

Deigns none to ease thy load, and taste thy sweet, 

Nor God, nor man? Is knowledge so despised? 

Or envy, or what reserve forbids to taste? 

Forbid who will, none shall from me withhold 

Longer thy offer'd good; why else set here? 

This said, he paused not, but with venturous arm 

He pluck'd, he tasted; me damp horror chill'd 

At such bold words, vouch'd with a deed so bold: 

But he thus, overjoyed; O fruit divine, 

Sweet of thyself, but much more sweet thus cropt, 

Forbidden here, it seems, as only fit 

For gods, yet able to make gods of men; 

And why not gods of men ; since good, the more 

Communicated, more abundant grows, 

The author not impair'd, but honor'd more? 

Here, happy creature, fair angelic Eve ! 

Partake thou also : happy though thou art, 

Happier thou may'st be, worthier canst not be: 

Taste this, and be henceforth among the gods 

Thyself a goddess, not to earth confined, 

But sometimes in the air, as we, sometimes 

Ascend to heaven, by merit thine, and see 

What life the gods live there, and such live thou. 

So saying, he drew nigh, and to me held, 

Even to my mouth of that same fruit held part 

Which he had pluck'd ; the pleasant savory smell 



POETIC PIECES. 295 

So quioken'd appetite, that I, methought, 

Could not but taste. Forthwith up to the clouds 

With him I flew, and underneath beheld 

The earth outstretch'd immense, a prospect wide 

And various; wondering at my flight and change 

To this high exaltation; suddenly 

My guide was gone, and I, methought, sunk down, 

And fell asleep ; but, O, how glad I waked 

To find this but a dream.' Thus Eve her night 

Related, and thus Adam answer'd sad : 

' Best image of myself, and dearer half, 
The trouble of thy thoughts this night in sleep 
Affects me equally ; nor can I like 
This uncouth dream, of evil sprung, I fear, 
Het evil whence? in thee can harbor none, 
Created pure. But know, that in the soul 
Are many lesser faculties, that serve 
Reason as chief; among these, Fancy next 
Her office holds; of all external things, 
Which the five watchful senses represent, 
She forms imaginations, airy shapes, 
Which reason, joining or disjoining, frames 
All what we affirm or what deny, and call 
Our knowledge or opinion; then retires 
Into her private cell. When nature rests^ % 

Oft in her absence mimic Fancy wakes 
To imitate her; but misjoining shapes, 
Wild work produces oft, and most in dreams; 
111 matching words and deeds long past or late. 
Some such resemblances, methinks I find 
Of our last evening's talk, in this thy dream, 
But with addition strange; yet be not sad. 
Evil into the mind of God or man 
May come and go, so unapproved, and leave 
No spot or blame behind; which gives me hope 
That what in sleep thou didst abhor to dream, 
Waking thou never wilt consent to do. 
Be not dishearten'd then, nor cloud those looks, 
That wont to be more cheerful and serene, 
Than when fair morning first smiles on the world; 
And let us to our fresh employments rise 
Among the groves, the fountains, and the flowers, 
That open now their choicest bosom'd smells, 
Reserv'd from night, and kept for thee in store. 

So cheer*d he his fair spouse, and she was cheer'd; 
But silently a gentle tear let fall 
From either eye, and wiped them with her hair; 
Two other precious drops that ready stood 
Each in their crystal sluice, he, ere they fell, 
Kiss'd, as the gracious signs of sweet remorse 
And pious awe, that fear'd to have offended. 






296 POETIC PIECES. 

So all was clear'd, and to the field they haste. 
But first from under shady arborous roof, 
Soon as they forth were come to open sight 
Of day-spring, and the sun, who, scarce uprisen, 
With wheels yet hovering" o'er the ocean brim, 
Shot parallel to the earth his dewey ray, . 
Discovering in wide landscape all the east 
Of Paradise and Eden's happy plains, 
Lowly they bow'd adoring, and began 
Their orisons, each morning duly paid 
In various style; for neither various style 
Nor holy rapture wanted they to praise 
Their Maker, in fit strains pronounc'd, or sung 
Unmeditated; such prompt eloquence 
Flow'd from their lips, in prose or numerous verse; 
More tuneable than needed lute or harp 
To add more sweetness. 



LOVE. 



And said I that my limbs were old, 
And said I that my blood was cold, 
And that my kindly fire was fled, 
And my poor withered heart was dead, 

And that I might not sing of love ? 
How could I to the dearest theme 
That ever warmed a minstrel's dream, 
So foul, so false a recreant prove ! 
How could I name love's very name, 
Nor wake my heart to notes of flame ! 

In peace, Love tunes the shepherd's reed; 

In war, he mounts the warrior's steed; 

In halls, in gay attire is seen ; 

In hamlet's dances on the green. 

Love rules the court, the camp, the grove, 

And men below, and saints above; 

Vor love is heaven, and heaven is love* 



CONTENTS, 

Page 

Preface, 3 

Essay on Elocution, 7 

Termination of the Essay, 48 

Remarks on reading Prose, Verse, and blank Verse, 49 

Suggestions to Instructors of the Art of Elocution, 53 

Select Sentences, 55 

CAUSES OF BAP READING AND SPEAKINO. 

Too slightly sounding the accented Vowels, Dwyer. 59 

Too slightly sounding the unaccented Vowels, Ibid, 59 

Wavering pronunciation of the Vowels under the secondary 

accent, , Ibid, 60 

The liquid sound of K, C, or G hard, before the Vowels 

A and J, Ibid, 60 

The suppressing the sound of the final consonants, Ibid, 61 

The sounds of the letter R, Ibid. 61 

Pronounoing S, indistinctly after St, • . . . Ibid, 62 

Not sounding the H where it ought to be sounded, and 

the reverse - Ibid, 62 

Improper pronunciation of the words for, from and by, . Ibid, 63 

Tribute of respect to the Memory of Noah Webster,. . ..Ibid, 63 
Observations on the pronunciation of certain words 

frequently mistaken in reading or speaking, Ibid. 63 

When you is to be pronounced like ye, and my like me> . Ibid, 64 

On the pronoun my, Ibid, 64 

When of, for, from and by, are to have a long, and when a 

short sound, Ibid. 65 

How to pronounce the possessive pronoun thy, Ibid. 66 

How to pronounce the adjective possessive pronoun, 

mine, Ibid, 66 

Improper and indistinct pronunciation of the word, not, . Ibid. 67 

Improper pronunciation of the terminating ing, Ibid. 67 

Improper pronunciation of the word to, ............. . Ibid. 67 



298 CONTENTS. 

Pag* 
ELOQUENCE OF RELIGION. 

The Saviour's Sermon on the Mount, 69 

I. Corinthians, XV. Chapter, , , 75 

Paul's Defence before Agrippa, 78 

Extract from the XIV. Chapter of Job, 80 

Character of a Christian Mother, .. .By Rev. W. B. Kirwan. 81 

Character of a Christian Wife, Ibid. 82 

Character of a Libertine, , Ibid. 83 

The Miser, Ibid. 85 

Advice to parents, Ibid. 86 

ELOQUENCE OF THE BAR. 

The Cause of the King against the Honourable Mr. Justice 

Johnson, . Curran. 93 

Finerty's Trial, Ibid. 102 

Rowan's Trial, Ibid. 107 

ELOQUENCE OF POPULAR ASSEMBLIES. 

Speech of Patrick Henry, in 1775 116 

Declaration of Independence, Jefferson. 120 

Washington's Farewell Address to the People of the United 

States 125 

Extract from an Oration, delivered in the New. York Forum, 

April, 1821, Dwyer. 143 

Lord Chatham's Speech against arming the Savages, in 1778, 145 

On Slander, Griffin. 146 

Rolla's Address, Sheridan. 148 

Brutus' Harangue on the death of Caesar, Shakspeare. 149 

Antony's Oration over Caesar's Body, Ibid. 150 

Eulogy pronounced at the city of Washington, October 19, 

1826, Wirt. 152 

Description of Gen. Conway's situation on the Repeal of the 

American Stamp Act, Burke. 170 

Description of Junius, Ibid. 171 

Lamentation for the loss of his Son, Ibid. 172 

Character of Mr. Fox, in support of his India Bill, Ibid. 173 

Character of Lord Chatham, Grattan. 175 

Invective against Mr. Corry in reply to his Aspersions, . Ibid. 176 

Extracts from a Speech against Warren Hastings, , Sheridan. 178 



CONTENTS. 299 

Page 
A Speech delivered at Cheltenham, on the 7th October, 1819, 
at the Fourth Anniversary of the Gloucester Missionary 

Society, ......*. • Phillips, 180 

On Education. Ibid. 185 

SUBJECTS DESCRIPTIVE AND MISCELLANEOUS. 

The Self Inflicting Torments of the Gamester Godwin, 187 

A Description of the field of Battle, where Varus the Roman 
General and his Army, had been destroyed by Armineus; 
also of the Tribute of respect paid by Germanicus and his 
Legions, to the scattered and unburied bones of their 

slaughtered countrymen, Tacitus. 188 

Eulogy on General Washington, Dwyer. 189 

On General La Fayette's Reception in the United States, 

in 1824, Ibid. 190 

The Widow and her Son, Irving. 191 

Reflections on first approaching Rome, Eustace. 198 

The Capitol, Ibid. 202 

The Forum, Ibid. 204 

The Thermae, or the Baths of Caracalla, Ibid. 209 

The Pantheon, Ibid. 210 

St. Peters, Ibid. 211 

Description of iEtna, .Brydone. 214 

Snowdon, Buckc. 221 

The Ocean, Ibid. 227 

The Vale of Tempe, Ibid. 229 

POETIC PIECES. 

Time, <.<.„ .™, S. Osborne. 232 

Burial of Sir John Moore, Rev. D. Wolfe. 233 

The Sailor Boy's Dream, TV. TV. Dimond. 234 

Angling ,. Alfred B. Street. 235 

The Country Clergyman, . . Groldsmith. 237 

Marco Bozzaris, Fitz G. Halleck. 238 

The American Flag, „„*.„ Sir J. De Laurence. 239 

Interview between Fitz-James and the Lady of the 

Lake, Scott. 240 

Quarrel between Roderick Dhu and Fitz-James, Ibid. 246 

Winter i* Copenhagen, ....,„.., Phillips. 25^ 



.00 CONTENTS. 

Page. 

Sacking of Prague, Campbell. 258 

The Pilot, Ibid. 260 

On Woman, Ibid. 261 

The Sceptic, Ibid. 262 

The Rose of the Wilderness, Ibid. 263 

TheLastMan, .....Ibid. 264 

The Rainbow, Ibid. 266 

The Sacrifice of Abraham, N. P. Willis. 267 

The Night before and Battle of Waterloo, Byron. 270 

Lines Addressed to a Skull, Ibid. 271 

A Storm at Night amid the Alps, Ibid. 272 

Cataract of Velino, Ibid. 272 

Venice, .... Ibid. 273 

Rome, Ibid. 279 

The Ocean, Ibid. 280 

Greece, Ibid. 281 

The Corse, Ibid. 284 

Paradise and the Peri, Moore. 287 

Adam's description of first finding himself on Earth, .Milton. 291 

Description of Eve's first finding herself on Earth, .... Ibid. 292 

Eve's unquiet Dream, Ibid. 293 

Love, Scott. 296 




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